


Wireless

by BlushLouise, StarlightCaptivator



Series: Wireless [1]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Everybody's getting some, Fanart, First Aid Does Science, Gen, Gestalt (Transformers), Humor, Jazz is a scheming maverick, M/M, Multi, Non-Graphic Smut, Or the lack thereof, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Tactile Sexual Interfacing, There is a plot we promise, Transformers Plug and Play Sexual Interfacing, Transformers Spark Bonds, Treason Everywhere, Wireless Sexual Interfacing, cross-faction relations, peace through fragging, somewhat cracky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-17
Updated: 2019-08-17
Packaged: 2020-09-06 00:24:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 24,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20282344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlushLouise/pseuds/BlushLouise, https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarlightCaptivator/pseuds/StarlightCaptivator
Summary: It’s a complete accident. Really. First Aid didn’t mean to invent wireless interfacing, he really didn’t. He didn’t even tell Ratchet he’d done it, because he really didn’t think it would work.And Defensor and Superion definitely didn’t mean to be so loud when they tested it out that they attracted the attention of Bruticus.And it wasn’t like anyone could have foreseen that the Combaticons wouldn’t attack, but would instead go back to the Decepticons and demand that Soundwave replicate the technology, stat, and make sure every Decepticon on Earth had access to it. Even less that Megatron would think it was a brilliant idea.At least, when the rest of the Autobots finally find out what’s going on, they’re not slow to adapt.They’re certainly not slow to reconnect, so to say, especially with lovers from across faction lines- and maybe turn the tables a bit.Or: the story about how First Aid made a massive technological breakthrough without meaning to, how Soundwave fooled the human satellites into thinking interfacing signals were foreign code, and how Jazz, master of the Autobot Kama Sutra, found the right signal to end the war.





	1. Going Dry

**Author's Note:**

> Hello and welcome to our Transformers Big Bang fic! ♥ BlushLouise and I had an excellent moment of brain synchronization when chatting one day, and this was the wonderful monster that spawned from it. ♥ I think you'll really enjoy it, this work truly delights me.
> 
> Also, make sure to look at our Artists' -[ShapeofMetal](https://shapeofmetal.tumblr.com/) and [Xydek](https://twitter.com/Xydeksalot)\- works for this fic! They will be embedded within the relevant chapters, so go give them some direct feedback too, they did wonderful works.  
-StarlightCaptivator
> 
> I am so excited to be sharing this fic with everyone! As StarlightCaptivator said, this is our insane cracky brainchild, spawned out of a random "hey, what if...", dragging us along and taking on a life of its own. It's been a blast to work on, and I'm hoping you have as much fun reading it as we had writing it! And definitely check out the awesome art!  
With no further ado!  
-BlushLouise

Jazz had tried everything. Every artificial lubricant the Earth had to offer. Every natural lubricant, too. He’d even tried a few things he was sure that Ratchet would have his plating turned into decorative drinking goblets for even thinking about putting in his internals. He’d pestered Wheeljack, Perceptor, even the human scientists.

Nothing worked.

“I’m sorry, Sides,” he panted, finally abandoning the attempt to ease into the frontliner’s far from lubricated valve. “Too dry.”

“This sucks slag,” Sideswipe grumbled, falling back on the berth with a groan.

“Yup.” Jazz let himself drop down next to him.

Sideswipe looked down at the apex of Jazz’s legs, a hopeful glint in his eye. “Maybe… Speaking of sucking…?”

“Not that I’m against the idea,” Jazz replied, shaking his head. “But I tried that with ‘Hide. No lubricant, the nodes get dry and irritated. No transfluid means no spike overloads either, so there’s really not much of a point. Unless you’re into array pain.”

“Well, frag.” Sideswipe sighed. “Sometimes, I really hate this planet.”

Jazz nodded in agreement. “Yeah, when it comes to this particular aspect of it, I couldn’t agree more.”

It had taken the science staff a while to verify what was going on. They’d thought, at first, that maybe the extremely lengthy stasis had just dried out everyone’s lubricant and transfluid reservoirs. Then they’d theorized that with them all being on rations of Earth-created energon, that it simply took longer to replenish them than they’d thought. Finally, they’d been forced to acknowledge the tragic truth - Earth-manufactured energon simply didn’t have the right minerals, so their frames couldn’t use it to replenish the depleted reservoirs.

Jazz missed his spike and valve more than he knew how to express. For all that they were still there, there was no way to use them. He hadn’t given up yet, but even he was getting close to losing hope at this point. Most of the Autobots had already gone back to the old-fashioned plug connection - some, like Ironhide and Gears, with more than a little relief.

Speaking of going back...

Jazz’s cocky grin reappeared. He tugged out his plug, brandishing it at Sideswipe. “Well, we can still do the fragging. Care to do the honors?”

* * *

Meanwhile, on the other side of the base, First Aid stared at one of his own plugs and tried to will it to function differently. Of course, he knew the _ recreational _ uses of plugging in, and had been drilled since his activation in the use of his plug and port in the pursuit of health for his patients. In the Medical bay, it was _ the _ technology for a medic to use when looking for a detailed fix, when a quick scan could only show major system changes and needs for repair.

On the battlefield, a deeper hardline connection in the pursuit of repair could get a medic killed.

Again, he focused on his plug, held delicately between his thumb and foredigit. There was something missing there, on the tip of his-

A nudge came from within and with it, First Aid’s attention sprung up and around to Groove, who stood watching him from the wall just a stride away.

“You on offer there, or just showin’ off?” He teased, motioning to First Aid’s plug with his helm. First Aid sputtered momentarily, shoving back along their gestalt bond in a playful manner, before letting aforementioned plug retract back into its housing.

“You _ would _try to shove a diagnostic plug in your ‘facing port, you walking charge dump,” Aid wheedled playfully, poking an accusing digit at his brother before he got closer. Groove let him, poking back in kind.

“Well, if it gets that stormcloud over your helm to dissipate, I may be willing to try anything.”

First Aid couldn’t help but soften, feeling a bloom of affection for Groove run deep. He didn’t need to ask how Groove noticed - something that affected one of them would affect them all. Groove put his arm around him and directed him to sit.

First Aid took him through his line of thought and Groove nodded all through his explanation of his anxiety on battlefield medicine and his desire to bring a more remote connection to life.

“Kinda like spark ‘facing, huh?” he asked, cutting First Aid off before he could start in on medical techno-babble about the mechanics and implications of it all. First Aid fixed him with a flat, disbelieving look, but Groove brought up his hands in the universal signal of placation.

“No, no _ listen _ \- my mind _ isn’t _ in the gutter, I swear.” He moved his hands down to the table, foredigits extended. “Line ‘facing is an exchange of data and charge, yeah? And _ spark ‘facing _ is about the same, but you don’t have to have complete contact to do it.” First Aid motioned for him to go on, and Groove brought those digits together.

“I’m not sure how you’d reroute all that stuff- but we do plenty of other stuff wirelessly- why not that too? Power it like you’re spark-facing, but that data and charge-” Aid’s expression fell again. “Okay- or not charge! but imagine- You could take in someone’s vitals if they gave you the correct permissions. You already monitor all of the gestalt in battle, you could expand that to the _ rest _ of the crew.”

First Aid took on a contemplative air. “It’s an intriguing idea- I wouldn’t have thought of applying systems like that in a non-standard way.” _ Especially _ in directing first responders to where they needed to be in post-battle cleanup. For just a moment, First Aid imagined an idealized future where he and Ratchet and the others _ didn’t _ need to- comb a destroyed landscape for an unconscious frontliner or two - Or where Ratchet needn’t bum-rush the battlefield when their Prime went down due to an ignored injury.

Already First Aid was starting to think up a preliminary code to support the software when Groove spoke up again, voice suggestive.

“Of course, you can be sure you can try it on _ me _ first. I’m happy to volunteer my body to _ science. _”

Aid squinted at him, gaze some mixture of piercing and playful. “You can bet on _ that _, Groove.”

And, bet he did, though it was unnecessary, since First Aid was quick to discover that the Cybertronian system was innately unique in its adaptability. Not Groove’s systems, of course, since he would rather die than damage his gestalt brother in some way. 

With a closed feedback loop including one of the medbay’s borrowed monitors plugged in, First Aid began tinkering with his coding.

Accessing his charge generators was the simplest affair, so close to the use of his spark as they already were. The monitor cheerfully beeped to tell him he was in perfect repair, and his charge generators were operating at optimal levels for his current state of activity.

Getting the commsuite to function as he wanted found him at a roadblock for a frustratingly long time, even after he reset the monitor completely after tinkering with it- up until he disconnected from it completely and got a return ping for permissions.

Excited, First Aid charged right through the handshake facsimile, only to be met with…. Not a damned thing. The monitor read _ nothing _ back at him, and he threw his hands up with a cry of frustration. The software held, the monitor was _ powered _, for all intents and purposes - save for a mistake in his programming making the monitor non-responsive.

_ ::...Aid?:: _

A knock came at the doorway to accompany the communication and First Aid startled out of his frustration and swung about, only to be met with the sight of several of his gestalt peeking in at him. At once at his notice all but one disappeared and Groove, left as sacrificial lamb-bot, gave a put-upon sigh and entered with all the nonchalance of one entering the den of a cranky medic knowing exactly what could meet them.

“I take it the project isn’t proceeding as planned?” He asked, choosing to come closer. First Aid stared at him for a moment before the realization hit, and Groove’s sheepish smile had him tamping down on his end of the bond.

“_ Oh, _ Oh Primus… I’ve been broadcasting this whole time, haven’t I?” He asked weakly, dropping his helm. Groove’s hand landed to rub on the back of his neck, a gentle calming touch.

“Only when you got reeeeal excited, then angry.” He said, quickly following it up with “Is there any way I can help you out?” to redirect from any guilt Aid may dredge up. “Seriously, let me be your guinea-pig.” The comforting touch slipped to around his shoulders, and Groove squeezed him close. “I know you won’t hurt me, you seemed confident that it wouldn’t hurt _ you _ so…”

FIrst Aid let out a great sigh of a vent, and nodded his assent. “Alright, give me your arm.”

The upgrade took to Groove just as easily as Aid had installed it in himself, and First Aid got to badgering him into starting it up immediately.

Arranging themselves across the room from each other, they both booted the new programs simultaneously. The pathways lit immediately, and First Aid dove in, attempting to ping for Groove across the new pathway.

Groove startled in his seat and Aid put it to the new connection, concentrating on finding access to Groove's vitals through it.

He knew very well that the spark was the best area to try and assess and even though he wasn’t getting any feedback from the system yet he knew that it-

Charge flitted across his central chest seam and his concentration broke entirely. “Whu-” he started, but Groove was on him, leaving kisses on his facemask.

_ ::And here I thought you were luring me in here for _ ** _medicine!_ ** _ :: _ Groove sent, and First Aid’s mental reply cut off at :: _ But-:: _ when pleasure snaked a line of charge up from his knee joint to his inner thigh.

Apparently, Groove cottoned on to this use of the two-way connection a lot faster than he did.

First Aid, however, was no slouch. So when he sent the charge up Groove’s middle to curl around to his dorsal plating, his hands followed behind in its wake, and this had the most pleasant effect of drawing Groove into his lap.

Groove volleyed his phantom touches back, dipping into seams and pressing sensors to activation at speed, as if he was the maestro and First Aid was the lovingly-played instrument.

First Aid couldn't help but be drawn in deeper, pushing against those electric pulls and opening his mask to accept Groove's kisses. He fell into their bold and strange new carnal dance with ease, but how else could it be _ but _ easy, with his gestalt-mate?

His focus centered in on a burst of charge to tantalize near Groove's spark, and ran his hands up his back in the same moment, lighting up a lovely curl of feedback into the bloom of a truly spectacular overload.

First Aid watched in some kind of dumbstruck awe as Groove writhed in a most beautiful display of pleasure, and his mind clicked in that next moment, wherein that pleasure so tangible as to be visible in those tiny crackles of electricity slammed full-force into him.

In that moment he, or perhaps it was his spark and his spun-up interfacing systems, decided that it really didn't matter one rusted skidplate rivet if his project had failed, to succeed so completely in this strange and wonderful way. The overload hit him like some chaotic thing,- consuming and wild, compared to a standard plug and port overload. He rode it out in a state of delicious bliss, only realizing after several hazy seconds of warm fugue that he had slumped and Groove had gone with him, hooked on by kibble and haphazard limb.

"...Guh," he said, after a lazy vocalizer reset. Perhaps taking this as his name, and clearly enjoying the post-coital bliss, Groove moved his helm just so, letting the side of it burr gently on its slide against First Aid's.

“Mm.” Groove replied, which, coming reflected from the timbre of his spark felt happily sated, and swirling with excitement under that. Aid was inclined to feel the same, inclined to follow that thrum of the others in their gestalt to their suddenly attentive sources.

He’d certainly want to check Groove over, and then himself, before bringing it to the rest of the Defensor components, but it was undeniable that he’d - that _ they’d _ discovered something that needed sharing, above all else.


	2. Love Big

The Aerialbots were understandably skeptical.

Air Raid stared at First Aid. “...so let me get this right. No plug. No port. Just the bond and the signal. And it works?”

Groove grinned, a slow, lazy thing. “Oh, it works_ fine _.”

Slingshot looked at him with clear doubt in his optics. Maybe not that surprising, considering Groove’s reputation of having a higher interfacing drive than the rest of the Protectobots put together.

And Silverbolt thought he was being rather diplomatic at that.

He didn’t really think it was all true. Oh, Groove liked ‘facing, Hot Spot had confessed as much, but he wasn’t any worse than the others. He was just more open about it.

Still, maybe he should reel in the conversation before it went completely off track.

“We said we’d help, so of course we’ll help,” he said firmly. “Aid, what do you need?”

“Well, I know it works for us,” First Aid replied, a tad shyly. “I’d like to see if it works for you guys, too. Since you’re a gestalt as well.”

Silverbolt nodded. He didn’t think anyone on his team minded being guinea pigs for any form of interfacing. Not even Skydive. “Sure. What do you need? Port access?” He held up his arm, diagnostic port sliding open.*

First Aid’s smile turned relieved. “Great. Thanks, ‘Bolt.”

“No problem.” Silverbolt waited patiently as the program was uploaded and integrated into his systems. He didn’t _ feel _ any different, but he probably wasn’t supposed to either.

Fireflight, bless him, held out his own arm. “So, does Defensor want to ‘face too?”

First Aid froze, staring at him.

Fireflight was well used to explaining his tangential thoughts, though, so he just continued with an easy smile on his face. “You know, since he doesn’t really have plugs and ports like we do. Superion doesn't either - we can ‘face individually, but not when we’re combined. And I figured if this thing’s like - I don’t know, like wireless signal ‘facing? Then maybe Defensor and Superion can ‘face too.”

First Aid sat down heavily on the nearest chair. “You know, that didn’t even occur to me.”

“Would it work?” Skydive asked, curious. “I mean, if we have the mod, and you have the mod, then…”

“It should work,” Streetwise agreed, nodding slowly. “I suppose it won’t be the easiest thing to test, though. And we don’t even know if they’d be interested. It’s not like they’ve ‘faced before.”

“Defensor’s probably seen your memories,” Air Raid interjected. “And Superion might not know much about it, but he likes Defensor. I think they might be interested.”

“Only one way to find out,” Blades said with a slow grin. He reached out and snagged Slingshot’s arm, pushing it out towards First Aid. “Let’s get these wingnuts upgraded.” 

* * *

Skydive watched in silence as Slingshot, ever brazen Slingshot, sauntered back to Blades and tugged at his collar fairing until he bent down enough that their lips met. The rotary’s moan was audible even to the back of the room, where Skydive was standing. (_ Not _ hiding, thanks, Air Raid.) Behind Blades, Skydive could just see Hot Spot give Silverbolt a Look, and Silverbolt’s knees almost buckled underneath him.

Huh. Maybe there was something to this after all.

Air Raid seemed to agree. There was a faint hint of excitement over their bond, then he looked from the pile of Slingshot-and-Blades to where Silverbolt had collapsed over the nearest couch. With an almighty whoop, Air Raid threw himself at Groove.

And it all went downhill from there.

Skydive was content to watch. Really, he was. He didn’t need to be part of it. And it wasn’t like he was wondering how it felt like to have his ailerons fondled or his vents licked or how it would feel to be bent backwards over the couch like that, holy _ slag _ -

There was a teasing flow of charge running up the inside of his leg.

Skydive looked around wildly until he spotted Fireflight’s playful smirk. His frown had no effect on his incorrigible gestalt brother._ ::Feels good, doesn’t it?:: _

Another lick of charge danced across Skydive’s pelvic plating.

_ ::It… How…?:: _He could barely keep himself from gasping.

_ ::That’s what the upgrade does, silly.:: _ ‘Flight was giggling in his mind. _ ::Go on, try it on me.:: _

Skydive focused, tried to do what he would if he was connected to Fireflight via cables. Fireflight gasped loudly and arched his back._ ::Ooooh yeah, that’s good, ‘Dive, you’re amazing at this already.:: _ He straightened and winked at Skydive. _ ::Now try it on _ him _ .:: _

_ ::What? No.:: _No way was Skydive making a fool of himself like that, just making a pass like - well, like Fireflight or Slingshot would, to be honest.

Besides, _ he _ probably wasn’t interested.

_ ::Go on. Try it on him. No one else is doing anything to him yet, but if you wait, you’ll miss your chance.:: _

_ ::’Flight, I can’t -:: _

_ ::Yeah you can, go on!:: _

_ ::No, ‘Flight, wait -:: _

_ ::Skydive! DO IT!:: _

Skydive flinched, and before he even knew what he’d done, he sent off a tentative touch of charge across the room.

Streetwise looked up. Looked around, just like Skydive had a few minutes ago - searching for the culprit. Skydive bit his lip.

_ Maybe he won’t notice. _

But it was Streetwise. Of course he noticed.

He said something to First Aid and Groove, then stood up and made his way around the room. He kept to the edges, dodging the piles of interfacing mecha, and stopped in front of Skydive.

Skydive bit his lip so hard he half expected to taste energon.

“Hi,” Streetwise said, a small smile on his face. “Did you do that on purpose?”

“Sorry,” Skydive blurted. “Fireflight made me, I didn’t - I mean, I wasn’t -”

His words weren’t working. His crush was _ standing right there _ and his words weren’t _ working _.

Maybe if he hoped hard enough, the crust of the planet would open up and swallow him.

“Oh.” Streetwise’s face fell slightly. “Okay. That’s - okay. I guess I was hoping you - but never mind.” He turned to leave.

Skydive was so surprised by the fact that Streetwise’s words didn’t seem to be working either that he almost let him walk away.

_ ::SKYDIVE!!:: _

Fireflight’s angry tone had him reacting without thinking, reaching out and taking Streetwise’s hand. “I did,” he managed, feeling his face heat and his hands trembling. “I did want to. I just…”

Streetwise was smiling again. His digits curled around Skydive’s. “Were too nervous to say?”

Skydive nodded sheepishly.

Streetwise chuckled. “Yeah. Me too.”

That made no sense.

“So…” Streetwise’s hand was suddenly there, on Skydive’s cheek. Just that touch was enough to ramp up Skydive’s charge. “Want to? With me?”

Skydive gathered what was left of his courage, and leaned in close enough to touch his lips to Streetwise’s.

They were as soft as they looked.

“So,” Streetwise whispered when Skydive finally pulled back from the kiss, his lips still tingling. “I’m going to take that as a yes.”

Skydive giggled. “Definitely.”

In the back of his mind, Fireflight was cheering him on.

* * *

Hot Spot slowed, making sure everyone was following. It could be easy to get lost in the dark, and the wooded mountain road wasn’t exactly easy to navigate. And they’d lost track of the fliers at some point, though Blades told him they were still on the right track.

He grumbled goodnaturedly as Groove darted past him, transforming before Hot Spot had even stopped and giving him a smug smile.

“You just have to be first, don’t you?” It felt good to stretch out his legs again. The bumpy road hadn’t been kind to his suspension, and he suspected Streetwise and First Aid felt even worse, from how stiff their transformation sequence was . Groove, the slagger, had swerved around every bump and pothole.

“Scout,” Groove replied, grinning. He looked up at the sound of engines. “Can they see us down here?”

Hot Spot flashed his emergency lights. The blues lit up the trees, showing just how small the clearing was. Hopefully it would still work. “They can now.”

He watched as first Silverbolt, then the other Aerialbots transformed and landed in the meadow. It was far from ideal for two large combiners, but it was the best they’d managed to come up with without raising suspicion.

At least, he hoped they’d managed to not raise suspicion.

He waited until they’d all settled and were standing in two rough groups, the Aerialbots on one side of the clearing and the Protectobots on the other. “You ready?”

Silverbolt nodded. There was a hint of a smile lingering around his mouth, echoing the hints of charge lingering in Hot Spot’s lines. Just the sight of that mouth was enough to make Hot Spot _ want _.

He really liked this new system First Aid had come up with.

Time to see if Defensor would like it, too.

“Protectobots, form Defensor!” The command was echoed as Silverbolt called the Aerialbots to him.

Hot Spot felt his body change as he rose. It was different than transforming on his own. He didn’t quite know what to compare it to, and no one but Silverbolt would understand anyway - well, maybe the Decepticon gestalts would, but he wasn’t going to march up and ask any of them.

There was a deep feeling of connection, of fulfillment, as first Streetwise and Groove and then Blades and First Aid became part of him, became a whole. Hot Spot felt himself submerge….

… and Defensor emerged.

For a moment, he observed. The clearing he was in was small but quiet, Earth sounds rich in the forest around him. His components were excited and focused, and though most of him felt sore they were pulsing encouragement and happiness at him.

Not a battle, then.

He turned at a noise to see Superion on the other side of the clearing. The other combiner was frowning, looking around - hunting for the enemy that clearly wasn’t there.

Defensor raised his hands. “Peace, Superion. There’s no one here but us.”

Superion relaxed marginally at the words. “Is this a training exercise? What are our orders?”

“I have no orders recorded. Give me a moment.” Defensor focused inwards, narrowing his contact with his components to the chief one in his torso. He couldn’t communicate with them, but he sensed their thoughts, their bond.

There was something they wanted him to try. Something new. The curiosity and excitement was almost tangible, a charge running through his combined lines.

His components continued to pulse encouragement at him.

Defensor frowned as he searched his systems. Something new, something recently added, something he hadn’t tried before…

His components were very excited. It made it hard to think. Superion looking steadily more agitated in front of him didn’t help.

“I think we have been summoned to test something new,” he offered, hoping to buy time before the other one got too irritated to listen. “I haven’t found quite what it is yet.”

“Something new?” Superion frowned again. It was somewhat of a default state, unfortunately. “Then I should have it as well.”

Defensor suppressed a sigh. Superion most likely had the same upgrade installed, but with so much less contact between him and his components than Defensor had with his own, it was unlikely that he’d find it first.

There. Something new had been connected to his comm suite, linking it to his spark energies and to the charge generators so rarely used in his combined form. He couldn’t quite understand what it was supposed to do, but the excitement of his components rose to a level where he could almost taste it, a metallic heaviness in the back of his mouth.

So he accessed the upgrade.

In front of him, Superion gasped and stiffened. “What did you do!?”

“I’m so sorry!” Defensor replied in dismay. “I didn’t mean to hurt you! It didn’t look like a weapon, so I didn’t think it was harmful.”

Superion looked at him cautiously. “... didn’t hurt,” he said finally.

How strange. Then what had it done? “I’m glad,” Defensor replied, not quite knowing what to make of his fellow combiner’s reaction. Superion was tense, but he looked like he was trembling, and there was something new about the way he was standing. Like he was more open, somehow, armor flaring a bit more. “The upgrade is a link between the spark and comm suite,” he offered. “With a connection to the charge generators.”

Superion nodded curtly, optics dimming as he hunted down the location Defensor had mentioned.

He knew the moment he’d found it. Superion smirked at him, and Defensor’s lines caught fire.

Not literally, to his relief. And as Superion had said, it didn’t hurt. It felt - it felt -

It felt _ good _.

“Primus,” he moaned faintly. “Do that again.”

Superion’s smirk widened to a full-blown grin, and he took a step closer. “Only if you do it back.”

Defensor didn’t mind that idea at all. He all but fell forward into Superion’s arms when the fire burned through him again, and now he could feel the heat of Superion’s plating as he retaliated, the tremors running through him, the blast of his vents.

“What is this?” The question was almost a moan.

“I don’t know.” Superion sounded as unsteady as Defensor felt. “But I like it.”

The components were pushing at him again, so he sent the fire - charge, he realized, he was actually using his charge generators - through Superion’s frame again. The returning charge wave near brought him to his knees, he could feel himself overheating, and it wasn’t enough, it wasn’t enough yet -

He didn’t know why he did it. He would cheerfully blame his incredibly eager components to the end of his days, if it came to that. But it felt incredibly right to lean forward and press his lips to Superion’s unmasked mouth.

Superion made a surprised noise and clutched at Defensor, sending another charge wave at him at the same time. It was enough to make Defensor weak in the knees - for some reason, the charge seemed to congregate in his left leg - and make them both lose their balance, toppling into the trees.

Defensor barely noticed. He was too busy taking in the taste of Superion’s mouth, the moans tingling against his lips, the hot plating under his hands.

This was _ glorious _. He couldn’t understand why he hadn’t done this before.

“More,” Superion gasped, and Defensor was all too happy to oblige him. He sent more charge Superion’s way, holding on to him as he gasped and shuddered, rolling with him when Superion tugged at him to get at his lips again.

There was a twinge of sadness in him as the trees around them were crushed by their rolling frames. Defensor acknowledged it, soothed as he could in his rather distracted state, made vague promises to replant and help the forest, before Superion’s lips met his again and he forgot where he was. Everything was Superion - the sharp nip on his glossa, the hands roving over his frame, the hot air he was venting, the molten flames running through his internals. He reciprocated, sending charge wave after charge wave into Superion, holding on for dear life as Superion roared into his audial, tensing in his arms as the charge crested, and then, and then -

Defensor fell apart. 

“Whoa.” Hot Spot grinned, shaking his head to get his processor to work. “That was wild.”

“That was awesome.” Blades was flat on his back on the forest floor, a sated grin aimed at the skies. “We are so doing that again.”

“Did Superion overload as well?” First Aid sat up, brushing foliage from his plating and looking around. “Oh no, the poor trees.”

“We’ll fix it,” Hot Spot reassured him. “Now, we need to find the Aerials.” He stood on shaky legs - apparently, overloading as part of Defensor was way more tiring than overloading as himself.

Now, there was a thought. He grinned and sent a small pulse of charge out, targeting Silverbolt.

The moan came from down the hill a bit. “... you slagger,” Silverbolt said, voice faint and far off. 

“They’re down there,” Hot Spot announced, chuckling a bit as Streetwise fought himself to his pedes and set off down the hill. He vanished suddenly, with a series of thumps and clangs, and then a groan.

::Found them. Superion fell down a slope - and yeah, he overloaded too.::

“C’mon.” Hot Spot tugged at Groove’s arms until he was up too, and prodded him to move. “Cuddlepile time.”

The small hollow the Aerialbots had landed in wasn’t hard to find. In fact, it was harder to _ not _find it, as he started sliding into it as soon as he reached the edge.

He wasn’t all that surprised to see Streetwise curled around Skydive as he slid past. Nor to see Blades crash against Slingshot and Air Raid, and Fireflight catching First Aid and Groove and pulling them down until they were all in one big pileup of cuddles and cooling, pinging metal.

When Silverbolt reached out and grasped his leg, guiding him down, Hot Spot went easily.

Yeah. He really liked this new system of Aid’s.

* * *

Bruticus watched, entranced, as sparks encased the two Autobot combiners and they transformed, crashing to the ground as individual components. He didn’t know what he’d just seen. But he knew he _ wanted _ it. He’d tried sending sparks too, like the other two had, but all he’d ended up doing was powering up his weapons.

And he didn’t want to shoot them, for once. If he did, he’d never find out how they were doing… whatever they were doing.

Bruticus didn’t know how to figure out what he’d just seen. But he did see it, and he did hear it, and since Megatron had shouted at him last time he reported something and didn’t have proof, he’d _ recorded the whole thing _.

He’d done good this time, he just knew it.

And he knew exactly who could figure out what the Autobutts had been up to.

Not Starscream. Starscream never helped, never did anything useful to Bruticus (except bringing him to life, but they didn’t talk about that). And Starscream always sneered and cursed at him.

No, someone else could help with this. Someone who was good at everything they did.

Mind made up - as much as it ever was - Bruticus turned back towards the Decepticon base to talk to Soundwave.


	3. Soundwave: Superior

Megatron wasn’t a patient mech at the best of times, and he never suffered stupidity lightly. So it was no wonder Starscream was already bracing for impact and everyone else had taken a careful step backward as the Combaticons finished their - grantedly impassioned - plea.

“You want to  _ what _ .” Megatron didn’t sound impressed at all.

“Frag like the Autobot combiners were,” Brawl said, unhelpfully. His optics were eager. “They were fragging, but they weren’t connected to each other.”

“What utter  _ nonsense _ ,” Starscream spat. “Such a thing isn’t possible.”

Megatron’s optics narrowed. Soundwave readied himself. He knew what was coming next.

“Soundwave.”

He nodded. “Understood, Lord Megatron.”

The Combaticons shifted in front of him, clearly aware of what had been implied in that order. Soundwave examined them as he chose his target.

Ordinarily, Brawl would be the weakest link in that group, the easiest one to pry surface information from. But he was also a leg, and though none of them precisely had functional optics when combined he was certainly the least likely to have had a good view of whatever had happened. And the least likely to have drawn any conclusions from it.

No, there was really only one viable target for this. He focused his attention on the Combaticon leader.

Onslaught’s mind was a smarmy, nasty, cloying thing to enter on the best of days. He was arrogant, self-entitled, with just enough fear and respect for Megatron to not be accused of insubordination.

But it was, in this instance at least, not too hard to find what he was looking for. The brief flashes of pale plating bathed in sparks, the frantic kissing that no combiner had ever attempted before, the admittedly enticing sight of two handsome mecha overloading.

Yes, the Combaticons were telling the truth. Unexpected as it was.

He pulled back from the connection. “Affirmative, Lord Megatron. Combaticons, truthful. New mode of interfacing witnessed.”

“Told ya,” Brawl gloated, but he at least was clever enough to keep his volume down.

Megatron looked intrigued. “Really? Something you can recreate, Starscream?”

Starscream scoffed. “Please. As if they can come up with something I can’t do.”

_ ::Pfft. Screamer couldn’t figure this out if it flew up his afterburners and ate him from the inside out.:: _

_ ::Frenzy, inappropriate.:: _

_ ::Well, yeah. But you know I’m right.:: _

Megatron apparently agreed. “Soundwave, you’re on this as well. Figure it out, get it implemented.” He turned away, heavy tread carrying him out of the command center. “It’s about time we had a breakthrough on that front.”

Soundwave knew that Megatron wasn’t the only one to have suffered from the lack of lubrication this planet had forced upon them. The amount of whining and complaining had made the Nemesis a noxious place to stay for a while, before everyone accepted the situation and moved on. Everyone but Megatron, that was, whose bouts of moodiness had reached truly epic proportions and had resulted in plans so wild that Soundwave knew they had become running gags among the Autobots. Starscream wouldn’t be the only one relieved to see Megatron’s boundless energies directed differently.

The situation had been trying for everyone. Now, there was a tangible air of excitement around him.

_ ::Laserbeak, Ravage. New orders given. Prepare to infiltrate the Ark.:: _

* * *

It took a few days before he had significant results. At first, neither Laserbeak or Ravage could find any trace of the type of interfacing Soundwave had witnessed in Onslaught’s memories. It took Laserbeak crawling through the smallest vents into individual quarters - staying well clear of the more dangerously attentive Autobots like Jazz, Blaster and Red Alert - before they had anything approaching results.

That first glimpse of the hot-headed rotary fragging the bolts off of the Aerialbots’ little speed-jet from across the room was not enough to draw any conclusions from. But it was confirmation that the Combaticons actually had seen what it seemed they had seen.

Soundwave contemplated, then ordered Ravage to return and dispatched Buzzsaw instead. The avian cassettes were ordered to step up surveillance on the two gestalts.

It paid off. The information was right there in Laserbeak’s recordings.

_ “...don’t understand why it isn’t working,” the young Protectobot complained. “It’s working fine for interfacing, but I still can’t diagnose anyone from a distance. Or even get a sense of their spark energy.” _

_ The scout hummed and moved closer to the medic. “It’s still so much more than anyone thought was possible. I mean, who’d have thought I could rock Fireflight’s struts from across the base, without even having him in my line of sight?” _

_ “I am glad it works that well,” the medic agreed. “But I wanted to create a diagnostic tool. Not a ‘facing aid.” _

_ “I’m not sure you understand just how massive this discovery is,” the scout mused. “But okay, let’s have a look at it. Have you considered connecting it to your diagnostics instead of your charge generators?” _

_ “I did. But then I have to power it solely through my spark, and that’s extremely taxing.” _

_ “Huh. Yeah, I guess I can see that. What if you connect it to all four of them? Diagnostics as well as the three we’re using now?” _

_ “I tried. I got different results depending on which command I used. Mostly It just ended up with me sending out the ‘facing signal to anyone with the upgrade within reach, leading to rather… heated.... situations. Once, it gave me a spontaneous spark-overload without any preparation at first.” He shuddered. “That was uncomfortable.” _

_ The scout giggled. “So that’s what that pileup the other day was about. I did wonder how you’d managed to attract all the Aerialbots at once like that.” _

_ The medic blushed. “I didn’t do it on purpose.” _

_ “No, I bet you didn’t. And a spontaneous spark-overload, hmm? How spontaneous are we talking here?” _

_ The medic pouted. “Stop laughing at me.” _

_ “Aw, I’m sorry, Aid. What if… what if you disconnect it from your spark, but leave it connected to your comms and charge generators? And then connect it to the diagnostics?” _

Yes, Soundwave thought. Yes, something like that might very well work.

* * *

It wasn’t as easily done as that, of course. Soundwave wasn’t going to let anyone else attempt to create the patch - not only did they not have the coding skills necessary, but he didn’t trust them.

Under the watchful optics of Ravage, with Rumble and Frenzy holding down the fort as it were in his absence, Soundwave experimented on his own code.

Knowing what the little medic had done was supremely helpful. The mech clearly had an affinity for code work and innovation. It would pay off to watch him closer.

Soundwave bypassed his spark entirely. It wouldn’t be necessary - it was a power source, true, but it would exhaust a mech and could potentially lead to dangerous situations. He was trying to create an interfacing method, not a way for mecha to overload themselves to spark failure. The patch was connected to his charge generators, and then to the part of his comm suite that let him target other mecha. Then the upgrade was laced to his sensory net, which he suspected the medic must have done, even though he hadn’t said it.

Once he’d decided he had done what needed to be done, he needed to test the upgrade. It was pointless to test it on someone whose coding didn’t have the new connection set up, and he was loath to install it into his own cassettes just yet. The risk of mayhem was too great.

Volunteers were needed. Or draftees, more accurately.

::Combaticons, report.::

::Soundwave?:: Onslaught sounded cautious.

::Report to medbay for upgrade.::

::Yessir!::

The Combaticon leader sounded hopeful. That would at least make him a willing participant.

* * *

Under Hook’s watchful optics, Soundwave installed the new patch into Onslaught’s and Blast Off’s coding. The other three would get it if the trial was successful, but he didn’t want to start up with three of the least trustworthy mecha on base. It would cause as much mayhem as if he gave it to his cassettes, though for different reasons.

“I don’t feel any different,” Blast Off said, stretching and rolling his shoulders. “Shouldn’t it be noticeable?”

“Do you notice your spike when you’re not using it?” Hook said dryly. “Or your charge generators? Shut up.”

Soundwave didn’t comment. He took a step back from the medical berth. “Update, complete. Blast Off, Onslaught, now test subjects.”

“Test subjects?” Onslaught grumbled. “I can’t even find the damn thing.”

“Finding it, not necessary,” Soundwave stated. “Upgrade, integrated with Onslaught’s systems. Command to use, accessible.”

“Where?” Blast Off sounded confused.

Soundwave didn’t reply. Instead, he accessed his own systems, targeting Blast Off, imagining a lick of charge teasing across the shuttle-former’s hip seams.

Blast Off gasped. Then he grinned. A moment later, he’d turned toward his gestalt leader, and it was Onslaught’s turn to gasp.

“Extensive testing required,” Soundwave said. “Onslaught, Blast Off, now on leave for two days. Will test system. After two days, full report expected.”

He didn’t get a verbal response. The two Combaticons were too busy. But he got an affirmative ping, and though it irked him to get such an incomplete response, he figured it would have to do.

* * *

It took exactly three hours before the first hopeful mech knocked on his door. He turned Swindle away with the stern message to wait until the tests had been completed. Brawl, a half hour later, got the same message. Then Dirge. Ramjet. Skywarp. Reflector.

In the end, he put a sign on his door and charged Rumble and Frenzy with making sure he wasn’t disturbed. That done, he pulled out a datapad and set to creating a more easily accessible version of the patch, one that could be installed without him having to connect directly. When that work was finally done, he copied it to a blank datapad and started working on it again.

He had plans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A small look at events in this chapter from another point of view:
> 
> Ramjet stopped at the loud moan from inside the Combaticon quarters. Skywarp and Dirge were already there, audials plastered against the door.  
"Are they fragging in there?" Ramjet asked dumbly. "Properly, I mean?"  
"Sounds like it," Skywarp replied. Ramjet could almost feel the heat coming off him. "Or it's the best self-service ever."  
"I thought our arrays didn't work anymore." Ramjet leaned in against the door as well, listening. Onslaught's deep voice rose in a roar, echoed by Blast Off's turbines.  
Skywarp whimpered.  
The door slid open, nearly depositing them all on the floor, and Swindle darted past.  
"Hey, what's going on?" Skywarp called after the retreating form. "How are they fragging properly?"  
"No time!" Swindle shouted back. "Gotta see Soundwave, he figured it out!"  
Ramjet met Dirge's optics. As one, they headed off down the corridor as well.  
Time to see Soundwave.


	4. Space Cases

Where the military hierarchy was concerned, Cosmos wasn’t particularly high up, nor important. Sure, Command liked to pat him on the back when he appeared to be getting particularly gloomy about his role and his work, but wherein all things were considered: Cosmos knew he was little more than a glorified taxi, when he wasn’t being a glorified courier.

Yeah, he’d never forget the aftermath of the trip to Floron III, where he was left for several hours in the grip of the tentacled Morphobots.

Just thinking about the robotic plants made his plating shudder.

But, point being that as a glorified taxi that ended up in the embarrassing grip of far too friendly robotic plant life, he had a remarkable amount of freedom.

Or, was it _ because _ of the Morphobots? Regardless, Command didn’t seem to care what he did in his free time, as long as it wasn’t blatant treason in the open.

So, his secret treason was probably okay. Probably.

It wasn’t as if it was _ actual treason _ , because he was sure if push came to shove then Prime would melt in the face of something as sweet as _ true love. _

Even if that love was none other than the Third-in-Command of the Decepticons, and his relationship with said very important enemy combatant had been going on for the better part of some twenty years, discounting the four million of stasis under Mt.St. Hillary.

Of course, it wasn’t an understatement to say it’d been an adaptation in their already difficult affair to discover the state of their preferred interfacing method upon waking and meeting for the first time on the strange new world of Earth.

Soundwave wasn’t the most comfortable with long bouts of plugging in for obvious reasons, and Cosmos’ space-farer’s armor meant that tactile interfacing took longer than their short rendezvous could often allow. Until the war was over - and entirely over - they had decided spark interfacing was completely out of the question.

Of course, while Cosmos often had all the time in the world thanks to being part of the rank and file of the Autobots, Soundwave was often finding himself having to report back on his “reconnaissance” missions at random times thanks to the whims of his leader.

Still, it was nice to have those moments together wherever they could carve them out. Though it came as no surprise when it was time to meet again and Cosmos found himself met instead by the sight of a cassetticon, sitting on a datapad.

Sure, it was a little disappointing as he was slated to begin another patrol of the solar system in the coming days. He’d have liked to see Soundwave beforehand, but it was nice to know he wasn’t forgotten, even if the way he showed it was via cassette.

As it was, Cosmos would take what he could get.

“Beaky.” He said in greeting, as he approached the little avian deployer. Said cassette let out a little squak of indignation at the nickname, but she made no other protest, as Cosmos was one of soft petting and tasty energon treats. He was stroking her head when he went for the datapad.

“What d’ya have there, Beakers?” he asked, but it earned him a far more indignant peck to the hand, so he withdrew just so to raise his hands in the universal sign for placation. “Okay, Okay. Not ‘Beakers’,” he said. “What do you have for me today, Laserbeak? More bookfiles?” Laserbeak took a delicate little hop off of the pad in question and shoved it a bit with short talons, squawking a reply that was neither an affirmative nor denial.

Cosmos took the pad with thanks, and was neither surprised nor offended when Laserbeak turned tail to take back away to the sky, package having been delivered. Such was the way of the world, and she had no time nor compunction for further inane niceties. Powering it on, he found a lovely little message from his clandestine lover with instructions to upload the little gift he’d left him on the datapad before the start of his next patrol, and to activate it following his written instructions once he was far enough away to be off Red Alert’s powerful sensors.

Cosmos puzzled over the message for just a moment before stowing the pad and taking his time flying back to the Ark for his final pre-spaceflight checks. Soundwave had gifted him things in the past, whether the aforementioned bookfiles, pictures or in the rare instance: music he’d made himself.

Back when they were on Cybertron and things weren’t so… dry, he’d often give him gifts for the more carnal encounters that would follow.

Cosmos sighed as he toiled along slowly in the sky towards home. The flavored artificial lubricant was his favorite, since Soundwave could be a demon with his mouth.

Despite the harder times and elevated danger, he missed those times. Sure, getting pressed into a wall inside the remains of a bombed out-building wasn't _ Ideal _ , but at least he was _ getting some _.

He bobbed in the air to shake himself from that thought-pattern. That wasn't fair of him, it's not like they could do anything different but survive.

Regardless, the datapad was still sitting heavy in his subspace pocket when he took off not too long after, and by the time he was out beyond the asteroid belt, he was itching to pull it out and have a peep at its contents.

He was approaching Jupiter when he transformed and pulled the pad out, and Saturn was just a growing ball when he activated it to behold its contents.

Past the initial instructing message lay one more, a single line in the middle of the screen in neat printed glyphs.

_ I count the moments until I can touch you once again. _

_ Perhaps this time is closer than you think. _

Cosmos couldn’t help the wobbly smile behind his blastmask, and couldn’t help but hug the datapad to his chestplating for the feeling of bursting that came from his spark in the love he felt for Soundwave in that moment. He’d not even gotten to see the contents of Soundwave’s gift, but he readily imagined all the things it could be, to make his spark yearn that much harder for his lover’s.

Basking in the warmth for a moment more, he quickly rechecked his coordinates and the distance from the Ark. Without Blaster boosting the signal - which he highly doubted he was since the mech hated to sit in that restrictive set-up - he was well out of communique range.

Impatient in his excitement, he went to the next screen. It contained some simple instructions for installation via the datapad and how to activate this program. He plugged in without hesitation, and downloaded the contents of the pad right away, following Soundwave’s instructions to a tee. He set the pad away after activating said program, wondering what could happen next.

His answer came quicker than he was sure it would, and in a way he never imagined possible, when it felt just like a large hand curled about his center. Cosmos boggled down at his plating, seeing nothing but the light in contrast. The feeling lingered a long moment as if in an embrace before smoothing a swath of charge down his side to squeeze at his thigh. It wasn’t like an actual touch, but a band of charge about his plating.

Something clicked, and he realized this was likely Soundwave’s gift to him. His first reaction was to offline his optics and reach out through the strange connection to reach for him, and it was a startling event to feel like his hand made contact.

The image of Soundwave materialized in his mind, from the attractive expanse of his dock to the lovely angles of his shoulders and length of his legs.

He knew very well that if Soundwave was _ really _ having hold of his thighs, he'd never be able to touch his dock, but he willed his touch across it and felt the charge transfer as if Soundwave was right there, somehow above and before him at the same time.

Charge flowed into his substructure, making those deep sensors throughout his frame tingle, and if he had air to vent, then he'd have gasped.

If not for the vacuum of space, a long, static-laden moan would’ve accompanied it. Those hands of charge slipped up under his armor, towards his spark-chamber, and Cosmos nearly overloaded on the spot, for how close they got to his spark-chamber, and the wildly pulsing spark within. He reached back through the connection, trying his best to replicate the stimulation but found his clumsy touches skirt contact over plating and sink only into seams.

He’d admit to himself then that Soundwave had him dominated completely, and in space no one would ear him scream.

A kiss of charge landed at the back of his neck, and it took a moment of hangtime for him to revel in the sensation of Soundwave, so far away from him and yet so close but undeniably all around him before he succumbed to his climax, unable to help but writhe in zero gravity and try to send as much of the sensation back down the connection.

His going limp felt no fall, but more an unclenching of his whole frame, overwhelmed by the sensations and heat suffusing his being. He wallowed in the afterglow as he floated along, well sated and thrilled but still longing for the closeness he’d love to engage in back when they were sneaking about on Cybertron.

As if to agree with his train of thought, a final caress of charge tickled weakly over his faceplate, leaving a pleasant flush in its wake. He visualized the face of his lover, the place he’d love to nuzzle at if they were physically right next to each other, and reached to touch over the distance in kind.

A few moments more of bliss and he transformed to allow his liquid heat-exchange system to function more efficiently. Soundwave had outdone himself this time, and as Cosmos floated along, he wondered if Soundwave had gotten his overload, too.

Down on Earth, deep under the chilly ocean waves, Soundwave lay sprawled out on the seafloor. Steam poured from his frame in a reverse cascade of bubbles.

He’d overloaded spectacularly in his little hidey hole, Cosmos’ own climax having fed back into his own system and sent him into a snap of electric bliss so high he was sure he'd sizzled some wiring in the process.

He let the water into his vents and let it rush over his overheated components, knowing full well that he would have a terrible time cleaning it all out later.

Somehow, he found that he was okay with this, and while he had the few precious moments more he longed for that physical touch of that brave little spacefarer’s plating against his, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Art in this chapter is by [ShapeofMetal, (](https://shapeofmetal.tumblr.com/) and [ShapeofMetal's Twitter](https://twitter.com/metal_shape)) and [Xydek! (](https://twitter.com/Xydeksalot), [Xydek's tumblr](https://xydek.tumblr.com/) and her [Pillowfort, too!](https://www.pillowfort.social/Xydek). )


	5. Underwater Shenanigans

Mirage shut his vents, keeping them closed until he’d overheated enough to be dry. Getting rid of the salt residue later would be quite the task, but those were the trials of a mission to the Nemesis: always cold, rusty and full of salt and brine.

Not his favorite mission. But very often a necessary one. This time, his objectives were both much broader and much narrower than usual.

_ The ‘Cons are quiet, _ Jazz had said.  _ There hasn’t been an attack in weeks. It’s not good, and we need to find out why. _

Mirage did understand why knowing why the Decepticons had gone quiet was important. He still thought his superior’s word usage was ridiculous.

As soon as his plating had stopped dripping, he slipped into the Nemesis vents.

His slim, streamlined frame had been the envy of many back before everything went to Pit. Now, it let him slip unnoticed and silent through the rusted, filthy ventilation system, avoiding known cameras and ducts that opened to large grilles where he would be more easily detected.

He didn’t quite feel like spending time in the Nemesis brig at the moment. Not with Skyfire waiting for him back at the Ark.

Some would call him a fool for falling so hard so fast. Mirage didn’t care. He’d finally found someone good, and damn if he wasn’t going to hold on to it.

It did little good to dwell on that now, though. The Nemesis might not be too hard to infiltrate anymore, but it was hardly a walk in the park, as the humans said. He needed his wits about him.

He slowed down as he spotted the first target of the mission, and activated his disruptor. Then, he slid slowly and carefully over to the vent over the Nemesis rec room.

What he saw down there didn’t make any sense.

He’d timed his entry to hit shift change, and usually, the room would be crowded. The Decepticons were a rowdy bunch, for the most part, quick to take offense and quick to brawl, quick to break it up and quick to… well.

He’d witnessed more than his fair share of interfacing sessions in the rec room. Some mechs seemed to prefer to be seen, and some never did.

It had never been like this though.

Beneath him, Swindle lay draped over Ramjet’s frame in a pile of sated, grinning mecha. Thrust sat next to them, writhing in obvious pleasure, his hands gripping the table hard enough to dent. He looked like he was seconds from overload, and yet no one was touching him.

Across the room, Skywarp cried out, hips making small, aborted thrust into the air. Wildrider and Drag Strip were watching him avidly, and though both had digits deep in each other’s plating, neither of them touched Skywarp.

And then there was Blitzwing. The huge triplechanger was laid out like a centerpiece in the middle of the room, twitching and moaning, arms and legs spread. Mirage could see the sparks zipping across his plating. The Reflector components were circling him slowly, tremors running through their frames every now and then and sparks brightening the gaps over their cables.

If Jazz were here, he’d say it was fragging hot to watch. And for all that Mirage usually sneered at him when he said things like that, he could admit in the sanctity of his own processor that yes. Yes, it was.

It also didn’t make any sense.

There were no spikes or valves on display. No cables connected to ports. No digits teasing joints and seams - the two Stunticons were entwined, yes, but they were holding on to each other rather than actually caressing.

Mirage frowned as he considered the blatant display. Maybe the command center would yield more answers.

He took care to be quiet, even though none of the ‘Cons below were likely to notice him unless he was really careless and fell onto them. And Mirage was never careless.

The route to the command center was long, considering the amount of cameras Soundwave had mounted all over the place. Whenever Mirage passed an open vent, he could hear the telltale sounds of fragging.

The Nemesis had turned into a free-for-all pleasure house. And the Autobots needed to know why.

And _ how _ , for that matter. Mirage wasn’t overly bothered by the lack of lubricant that had suddenly afflicted them after waking up on this miserable planet, but he knew others were running themselves ragged trying to find alternatives. Some mecha - Jazz - had a higher interface drive than necessary, in his opinion.

Though he hadn’t really had the chance to miss the lubricants before now. Maybe he would have changed his mind, had that been the case.

The command center yielded few answers. What it did yield, was an offline Thundercracker draped over Megatron’s throne, and the warlord himself walking away with sparks still flashing in his seams. There was no sign of Starscream or Soundwave, which was worrying. Mainly because it forced Mirage to actually seek out two areas he always tried actively to avoid - Soundwave’s quarters and Starscream’s lab.

There was nothing for it. All his mission had yielded so far was more questions.

The vents around Soundwave’s quarters were surprisingly empty. As was the quarters themselves. Mirage didn’t dare opening the vent and actually going inside to search for answers - Soundwave would never have left his quarters unguarded.

The sudden sight of Rumble and Frenzy offline in each other’s arms didn’t really make anything safer.

The vents stayed eerily empty as Mirage made his way down into the bowels of the ship, to where Starscream’s lab had been located in the most recent intelligence they had. He paused when he heard voices from up ahead.

“.... know what you did,” one voice said. It was unmistakably familiar, which meant he now knew where Starscream was. “I just want the same, that’s all.”

“Soundwave: aware of Starscream’s desires,” and frag, Mirage was too close if Soundwave was there as well. He backtracked a short way, making sure he could still hear the voices.

“Then you of anyone should understand why I’m asking!” Starscream was beginning to sound frustrated - his voice was climbing up towards the screech he was well-known for.

“Reasoning: understood. Timing: wrong. Not yet ready.”

Starscream scoffed. “Surely you’ve run enough  _ tests _ by now. The whole Nemesis is awash with them.”

Mirage increased the input of his audials. It seemed he finally had one answer, at least.

“Program: ready,” Soundwave asserted. “Starscream: not ready. More discretion needed.”

“I am discrete.” Now Starscream sounded insulted.

Soundwave, in contrast, managed to sound even more deadpan than usual. “Negative. Starscream: seen. By Ravage. Laserbeak. Skywarp.”

“Sky knows to hold his tongue.”

“Irrelevant. Starscream: not ready.”

“Whatever,” Starscream hissed. “If you’re not going to help me, get out. I’ll figure it out myself.”

Getting out was good advice, Mirage figured. He backtracked his way through vents that were beginning to reek of ozone until he was back where he’d started.

He’d at least gotten some answers to put in his report. Not that it was enough to make anyone happy, really.

Well, except for Jazz. All the Decepticons interfacing would have Jazz rolling on the floor with laughter. And maybe a bit of envy as well.

Mirage was glad he’d get to give his report directly to the command group and not to Jazz in private.

* * *

Ironhide stared. For that matter, so did everyone else. “Yer sayin’ what now?”

“The entire crew of the Nemesis has descended into one giant fragfest, and it’s somehow Soundwave’s fault,” Mirage said succinctly. He didn’t quite know how to be any clearer than that. They  _ did _ all have a copy of his written report in front of them.

Optimus sighed, looking pained. “And you’re sure you don’t know how Soundwave is responsible for this?”

“Only that it’s something he’s done, and that Starscream wants it,” Mirage replied. “I’m not sure what it is about, though, considering both his wingmates were busy interfacing. One would think that if Skywarp and Thundercracker have something, Starscream will have it as well.”

“Maybe it’s something different,” Prowl mused. “Connected, but not the same.”

“It’s all guesswork at this point,” Wheeljack said. He shrugged. “Ain’t much we can do without more info.”

“At least we know why it’s been quiet,” Ironhide grumbled. “Though I can’t say it made us much wiser.”

“Well, you know what we’ve got to do next.” Jazz was positively cackling. Mirage felt no pride in being right in guessing how completely gleeful his immediate superior would be at the news.

“Oh?” Ratchet sounded dubious, and looked at Jazz with something akin to dread. “And that is?”

Jazz grinned. “We need to net ourselves a Decepticon.”


	6. Medical Revelations

Ratchet glanced down at the camera feed. “Dirge? Really?”

Jazz shrugged. “You wanted someone who was low-profile and still high enough in the system to know what’s going on. He fits.”

“I know he fits.” Ratchet sighed, his cabling tensing slightly in apprehension. “He gives me the creeps, that’s all. I’d rather have had any of the others.”

“Well, you got him. And of course he does, he’s  _ Dirge _ .” Jazz grinned, more mockery than true mirth. “Come on. Let’s see what we can get out of him.”

Ratchet let Jazz take the lead into the reinforced interrogation cell. It was only common sense - Dirge was secure, and neither Autobot was armed, but Jazz could kill with his digits. Ratchet couldn’t. Not unless he transformed an arm into a saw or something, and frankly, he valued his medical tools more than that.

Dirge glanced up as they walked inside. He didn’t look subdued, for all that he was tied down and disarmed. No Decepticon ever did.

Ratchet kind of hoped no Autobot ever did, either.

Jazz took up position in front of the shackled Decepticon. For a moment, they just stared at each other, Jazz passively neutral and Dirge silently sneering. Ratchet watched from the sidelines, ready to step in when Jazz gave him the signal.

“So, I think you know why you’re here,” Jazz said finally. “Which means you also know how this will pan out.”

“I ain’t saying nothing,” Dirge snarled back.

“Well, didn’t expect you to, to be honest,” Jazz commented with a nod. “That’s why you got me. And that’s why you got him.” He nodded towards Ratchet. “Know who that is?”

Dirge didn’t reply. He did look worried for a moment, though.

“Yeah, you know who that is,” Jazz said softly. “You’ve heard what he can do. How he can remove your plating piece by piece until you’re nothing but naked metal. Dismantle your optics while you’re still using them. Use his scalpel on your flight panels until they’re so far out of shape that the only way you’ll ever fly again is if a combiner throws you up there. And he’ll do it all without disabling your sensor net. In fact, he’ll tweak it, turning the sensitivity higher and higher until every touch is agony, every breath of air an inferno. He’ll work you over until you beg for relief, and then he’ll keep going until you go into stasis. And then he’ll wake you back up, force you to stay online, force you to stay alive even when all you want is to die.”

Dirge bit his lip, averted his optics. Ratchet had to admit he was somewhat impressed - there were theories in there he’d never heard before. But he wasn’t surprised that Jazz had.

That’s what made Jazz such an expert interrogator. He was amazingly good at taking the rumors that circulated among the Decepticons and turning them around, feeding them back as incredibly detailed and credible threats. Which of course fed the rumors more, leaving him even more to work with next time.

Ratchet wouldn’t have been able to stomach it if he hadn’t known that there was no way in pit he’d do any of those things. Jazz knew as well.

But no Decepticon had found out yet. They always caved before he had to prove himself. On one memorable occasion, he’d had to take out his scalpel and start cutting into Skywarp’s plating. He’d only made a few superficial - though very painful - cuts before the seeker had cried out that he’d tell them anything they needed to know.

Not that he actually did. The Decepticon troops broke under Jazz’s hands, but they rarely had any significant intel. That was all in the hands of Starscream, or Soundwave and his minions, or Megatron himself. And they did not break that easily.

“And I haven’t even gotten started on what he can do to interfacing equipment,” Jazz continued, almost crooning now. “You think the dryness we’re all experiencing now is painful? You haven’t seen anything yet. Ratchet’s got tools that’ll make you wish he’d settled for turning your spike inside out. He can cut the lining away from your valve all the way up to the ceiling node, leaving you in constant pain for the rest of your existence. Every node reacting with nothing but agony, every caliper cycling against raw damaged mesh, and if you happen to achieve overload...” Jazz’s hand teased across Dirge’s cockpit. “... the sparks will set the lubricant escaping behind your lining on fire. Terrible, horrific burns, mech.”

Ratchet had to bite back a snort. It was hard work keeping his optics off Jazz while trying to look carelessly intimidating.

Turning a spike inside out.  _ Really _ .

Well, at least their imagination was working well enough.

“I’m going to go out on a limb here and guess that you don’t want that to happen, do you, flyboy?” Jazz crooned. “Want your spike and valve intact, don’t you? Even if you can’t use them right now. Want to fly again, don’t you, mech? Not be bound to the earth like a common grounder, watching your trine take off without you.”

Dirge was beginning to look desperate. Ratchet took that as his cue to up the act. He raised a hand, transformed one digit to his trusted integrated scalpel, watched it disinterestedly.

The sharp blue light seemed to have Dirge almost hypnotized.

“So you’re going to tell us what we want to know, don’t you?” Jazz murmured. “You’re going to tell us, because we’d hate to have to dig for the information in your mind. Ratchet’s taken working on physical frames to an art, but his mental touch is much more of a hackjob. Not sure there’d be anything left of your processor, really.” Jazz shrugged, a sad frown on his face. “That would be too bad, wouldn’t it?”

Dirge licked his lips. It was a nervous gesture - even from here, Ratchet could see that the Decepticon was trembling. “I don’t know anything.”

“Oh, I think you know this,” Jazz purred. “I think you know this _ intimately _ .”

Ratchet watched as Jazz asked the usual questions. Megatron’s plans. Patrol routes. Starscream’s plans. Shockwave’s plans. Decepticon energon stores. Contact with the humans.

Dirge really didn’t know anything. Sometimes he balked, but it was usually enough for Ratchet to take a step closer with his scalpel activated for him to answer. More often than not the answer was “I don’t know, fraggit”.

Ratchet didn’t know if the Decepticon troops caved quickly because they really didn’t know anything, or if they really didn’t know anything because Decepticon command knew they’d cave quickly under torture. It was a moot point anyway.

And this… could barely be called psychological torture, if that. Dirge was scared, true, but he was cursing up a storm as well, so he was probably fine.

“One last thing,” Jazz said finally, to Ratchet’s relief. He had actual work to do. “Who came up with the new way of fragging?”

Not subtle. Ratchet suppressed a wince.

Dirge, though? He just stared for a moment.

Then he began laughing.

Loudly, heartily, like Jazz had just told the greatest joke in the history of this or any other universe. There was cleansing fluid pooling in his optics, and his vents were wheezing to the point where Ratchet almost worried about overheating.

Jazz just stood there. He probably looked passive, bored even, to the Decepticon, but Ratchet knew him too well.

Jazz was astounded and a little embarrassed.

“ _ That’s _ what you want to know?” Dirge managed finally. “Poor, frag-starved Autobots.” He laughed again, and Ratchet was tempted to slap him to snap him out of it. “Yeah, Soundwave figured it out. Shared the update. Primus, I can’t believe you dragged me in here for this.” He started laughing again, optics dimming, and Jazz looked at Ratchet and shrugged.

::I don’t think we’ll get anything more out of him.::

::I think there’s something,:: Ratchet replied. ::He said it was an update. That means it’s in his systems or his coding or both. I can probably find it.::

Jazz smirked. ::Not known you to be so hands-on with the prisoners, doc. But sure, have a look.::

Ratchet ruthlessly terminated the processor thread that said he was working on an unconsenting patient. Dirge was a prisoner of war. Besides, it wasn’t like he was planning to hurt him.

Priorities settled, he connected Dirge to a medical datapad and dropped him into stasis mid-laugh. He had work to do.

* * *

There were certain perks that the mantle of command-staff-leadership brought.

Many times, those perks weren't any kind of real  _ perk _ , unless you were pretending to be half-automaton in a red enforcers' chevron- but more like punishment duty for accepting the role, because it was all stiff back-struts and discipline.

Then there were times- no time like the present! - where being a member of the command staff meant a bot got to gather his soldiers and issue the best order ever vocalized.

That is, if said soldiers were their scant science and medical corps and said order was to figure out how to get the Autobot forces clanging again. 

Ratchet looked at Jazz as if some deeply primal part of him wished to outstrip his coding so that he could rend Jazz's head from his shoulders and punt it off the volcano that made their home.

But, it  _ had _ been Jazz who gleefully reported the find-  _ Ratchet's find-  _ in Dirge, and Jazz who had gotten the permission to pursue getting this strange new mode of interfacing disseminated among the forces, with a fond, always mildly exasperated shake of Optimus' helm. And so it was Jazz who had the great,  _ great _ pleasure of breaking the science bots’ minds.

He couldn’t wait.

“Hey, all.” He grinned. “Got some news for ya.”

In the back of the room, Ratchet pinched his olfactory ridge.

“So, turns out the reason the ‘Cons haven’t been acting up is because they’re busy distance-fragging like petrorabbits in heat. ” He paused for a moment, to let it sink in. It wasn’t news to all of them - Wheeljack had been present for the command briefing when Mirage came back - but even if they knew the what, they didn’t know the how. And he was  _ so _ looking forward to trying out the how.

As it was, he took a picture of Perceptor’s slack-jawed expression and considered having it framed.

“ _ Distance _ -fragging?” Hoist asked. “What does that even mean?”

Jazz winked. “You want a visual demonstration? ‘Raj took image captures.”

“Primus save us from that,” Wheeljack laughed. “Watch your skeevy porn on your own time.”

Jazz pouted. “Aw, but it’s so much fun. You don’t know what you’re missing, Skywarp is slagging hot in overload.” He caught the Glare of Imminent Painful Death from the back of the room and moved on. “Anyway. Distance-fragging means they’re doing it all without touching each other. Some kind of remote charge transfer.”

Behind Hoist, First Aid made a noise that could only be described as a squeak.

Jazz watched as Ratchet's helm snapped whip-quick to the side to stare at his young apprentice for a moment, before slowly turning back to front. First Aid didn't appear to notice.

Jazz's grin grew wider. 

"So," he piped, “Here’s the plan, fam- Y’all science types will work with Red Alert to figure out how to replicate the program, keeping it compatible with the 'Cons.” He swept his arm out casually towards them, before sweeping it the other way. "And y'all of the medical-types are going to make sure it don't twist our systems all sorts of sideways." 

Ratchet raised his hand at the back of the room, and Jazz motioned for him to go ahead. 

“Does Red Alert know he’s going to be helping to write a program to let us  _ frag Decepticons _ should we so wish?” he drawled, sounding both unimpressed and impressively resembling a predator ready to pounce from his seat in the back. 

Jazz’s expression slowly morphed into sharp grin, wide across his face. 

“Why Ratchet, as our Chief Medical Officer, I was going to leave that dissemination of information to  _ you _ , when you get that preliminary report from the Science Corps _ .”  _

Ratchet sighed. “Of course you were. Thanks, Jazz.”

“You’re welcome,” Jazz chirped brightly. “I’m sure you can convince him. Any other questions?”

First Aid was looking decidedly distraught at this point.

“Excellent! Now go! Be enablers of fragging!”

Wheeljack laughed. “And where are you going?”

“Me?” Jazz grinned. “I’m off to see a mech about a donkey.”

He barely heard Ratchet’s creative cussing as the door closed behind him.

* * *

“I  _ know _ you disagree,” Ratchet said, for what seemed like the billionth time. “I know you think it’s risky and dangerous and insane and - what was that last phrase you used again? Oh yes - ‘as likely to succeed as Megatron suddenly appearing on our doorstep wrapped in pretty pink ribbons with a bow on the top.’ Which, kinky, by the way. I didn’t know you had it in you.”

Red Alert folded his arms across his chassis and mumbled something about Sideswipe.

“I’m afraid I agree with Red Alert,” Perceptor said. “I see no reason why we need this system to be compatible with what the Decepticons have created.”

Ratchet sighed. “You want one reason? Because it’s nothing short of brilliant, and I doubt we can come up with something that’s even half as elegant as the solution Soundwave’s devised.”

Behind him, First Aid made another of those embarrassed squeaks.

Ratchet pinched his olfactory ridge. “All right, First Aid, out with it.”

“Out with what?” his apprentice said, trying to sound innocent. Too bad that Ratchet knew Aid’s innocent voice, and that wasn’t it.

“That’s the third time you’ve squeaked since Jazz addressed everyone. Something’s up. Come on, out with it.”

First Aid looked as if he was about to flee, his gaze darted to the door Ratchet was conveniently standing directly in the way of. 

“Out with _what?”_ First Aid asked again, voice squeaking into a higher register. 

From where he was seated in a lazy-half sprawl, Swoop squawked out a laugh. 

“Him First Aid bad at poker, worse at lying!” he chortled. First Aid couldn't help but look at him with dismay clear in his expression as he took on more of that look of a frightened turborat. 

Ratchet took a deep, cleansing breath. He needed to be calm, he was calm- and he was absolutely going to look past the top of his apprentice’s helm and into the middle distance as he  _ very calmly _ asked First Aid to sit down, and very much did not observe how he appeared like he would like to disappear into the ground. 

“Now,” he said, putting on a tone that brokered no argument, lest the mech on the other end of it  _ really _ wanted to be reformatted into a toaster. “ _ Please _ share with the class why you’re acting so strange.” 

First Aid sat with his helm lowered for a long moment, before meekly peeking upwards. “It’s my fault,” he said, sounding contrite as could be. 

" _ What  _ him First Aid fault?" Swoop needled carefully, sitting up out of his lazy sprawl into alertness.

"I'm the reason the Decepticons are fragging."

For a long moment, silence reigned.

And then Red Alert fell over, spouting nonsense and static as vicious-looking sparks danced between his horns.

* * *

When the four medics among the group had finished putting Red back together, the bones of the story had been teased out of the youngest among them. 

Ratchet felt a pang of mentorly affection to hear First Aid talk about his attempt to create a new, safe diagnostic tool for them to use on the battlefield, but this faded quickly to be replaced with some sardonic amusement when First Aid admitted that it had rapidly devolved into interfacing, and more so when that interfacing ended up in a first time tryst between Superion and Defensor.

Swoop was almost doubled over with hysterical laughter, unable to articulate whatever bawdy question he had about the two combiners’ prowess in the metaphorical berth. 

“That’s probably how the ‘Cons got a lead on how to get with the program, so to speak,” Ratchet said, as he and Aid hoisted Red Alert back into his seat. “Fraggin’ voyeurs. Figures,” he grumbled finally, before turning bodily to First Aid and putting his hands on his hip-plating.

“Well?” He asked, when First Aid just looked at him. “Call your brothers and pop your diagnostic panel. I wanna see what we’re working with here.” 


	7. Consequences

The Ark had a different vibe to it these days. Mecha were smiling in the hallways -  _ leering _ , Prowl would have said, and yeah, there was some truth to that. Sideswipe wasn’t the only one who’d had to be told off for public indecency. Surprisingly enough, he wasn’t even one of the worst ones.

Still, Jazz loved it. Happy mecha made for a happier base, made for more motivated fighters, made for people who had something to live for and fight for and try to stay alive for.

Also, there was the extra fun of sometimes not knowing exactly who it was sent a tingling pulse across his sensor net. Like the one dancing across his hips at the moment. Jazz locked his legs and hips as he stood by the energon dispenser. He was practically a veteran at this by now.

And he hadn’t told anyone  _ just _ how much he loved it.

He got his cube and turned slowly, thankful that his visor let him seek out the perpetrators without giving away that he was looking. Another teasing touch to his abdomen almost broke his concentration, but…

There!

Grinning slightly, he sent back a heavy pulse across Sideswipe’s array, teasing hip cabling and open seams. The warrior gasped, almost spilling his fuel, and Jazz’s grin widened.

Too easy.

Sideswipe probably wasn’t the only one, though. Someone was sending phantom touches to his neck, making him feel like he was being nibbled and kissed. That wasn’t Sideswipe’s style, but it was well within the scope of someone like… There. Wheeljack.

Of course, the scientist had enough control merely to wink at Jazz as he sent the return pulse. Slagger.

Jazz grinned and threw him a lazy salute before leaving the rec room, taking his cube with him.

* * *

First Aid hurried through the hallways, head held low. Not for the first time, he wished that the Protectobot quarters were closer to medbay, so he didn’t have to walk so far to get back there. Or past so many mechs.

“Hey, awesome job, man,” Beachcomber called from a crossing hallway. “Really appreciate it.”

“Well done, young First Aid,” Perceptor beamed at him, petting his shoulder as he passed. “I’m very impressed.”

“So how did you come up with it anyway?” Cliffjumper leered. “Guess you run hotter than we all thought, huh?”

Mirage stopped him in the hallway and kissed his cheek. “Thank you. You don’t know how much this means.”

Okay, so they weren’t all bad. Some of them were nice. But it was still more attention than First Aid was comfortable with, and he definitely didn’t like all the innuendos and sneaky touches, physical or otherwise. It was a relief to close the door to their quarters and lean against it, optics offlined and vents running ragged.

“Hey, are you okay?” Groove sounded concerned, “You’re stressed all the way through.”

“This isn’t what I wanted,” First Aid sighed. “I didn’t mean to turn all the Autobots into frag machines!”

Groove chuckled lightly, and then warm arms pulled First Aid close to a solid frame. “I’m sorry. But it’s kind of cool, what’s going on.” Groove paused for a moment, expectantly. Then he huffed. “You’ve turned it off?”

“Of course I have!” First Aid couldn’t help the note of hysteria in his voice, not after the day he’d had. “If not, I wouldn’t have gotten any work done!” He let himself be guided into their small living area and sat down on the couch. “They’re all so grateful! Before I turned it off, someone was always sending impulses at me! It got really uncomfortable.”

Groove sighed. His digits massaged First Aid’s plating gently, and for the first time that day the touch was soothing instead of too much. “If they don’t calm down, talk to Prime about it. Okay? Or Prowl. It’s not meant to be used like that, on mecha who don’t want it.”

“I will.” First Aid curled up against Groove’s side.. “I’ll turn it on, but if they keep projecting at me I’m turning it back off. Okay?”

“Okay.” Groove didn’t sound very happy. “One of us will walk with you to your shift tomorrow, okay?”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

First Aid finally let himself relax. It was a relief to let himself forget about the outside world for a while.

He really hoped it would get better.

* * *

Across the Ark, another mech hoped the situation would improve but knew very well that unless he or one of the unfortunately frag-happy medics found some danger to this new carnal craze, he’d be- as the humans say- shit out of luck. 

Prowl had opted out of the new interface upgrade with a vehement declaration that he needed no such distraction, but was dismayed with the report that his opinion was the widely unpopular one through the crew. 

This whole new “wireless interface” had turned the Ark into a veritable den of iniquity, and the mode made it nigh impossible to discipline the crew for public indecency. 

Unless they were caught in those very public areas with their hands all over each other, Prowl could infer nothing from heated looks across the room, unless someone was vocalizing or… or  _ writhing _ .

Nevertheless, Prowl would uphold his duty to the letter, and make certain to catch the miscreants where he could. 

Even if those miscreants were the other members of the command staff. 

A new note on the traitor’s list: Red Alert, for pleading silence in the face of possibly incriminating himself or others close to him. He’d be keeping an eye on that one, lest Red Alert stray from his duties somehow. 

Not on Prowl’s watch. 

The thought barely had time to file away before the door to his office shut behind him, and he realized he wasn’t alone.  _ Ironhide _ , of all the Autobots who could let themselves into his space, had let himself in and sat himself down in one of the chairs usually reserved for miscreants and those otherwise in need of disciplinary action. Which, these days, seemed to be everyone  _ but _ the usually rowdy weapons specialist. 

Ironhide gave him a grim, crooked smile and rose a crystal glass of all things towards him in a mock salute. Prowl came around the other side to take his comfortable door-wing friendly seat, taking lightning-fast note of the other delicately carved glass- filled to half full- and the decanter of fizzing, dark purple energon. 

“Your private stock,” Prowl stated, optics darting up to where Ironhide was sipping faux-delicately at his drink. “What’s the occasion?” 

Ironhide finished savoring his sip before answering. “We’re th’ last two. Holdouts.  _ Sane ones.” _

Prowl eyed him a moment, and reviewed the newest medical report as it had been stored on his personal drives- through perfectly safe uplink,  _ thank you very much. _

He took his seat and when he found that Ironhide was not on the roster of mechanisms who had taken the upgrade, he took hold of the glass. He peered at it, observed the ominous bubbles coming off it. 

And then he slammed it back in one go. 

It burned all the way down, to settle warm- and still bubbling- in his fuel tank. Ironhide looked mildly alarmed, as Prowl poured himself another. 

“Yes, we are,” he finally agreed, and leaned on his desk with both elbows. "We're the only ones who have any sense about this whole debacle, no one else can seem to see the potential  _ risks _ of this ‘amazing new system’.”

Ironhide’s expression softened just so, even through the half-hearted attempt at air-quotes that Prowl gave. 

He took another sip of his private reserve before speaking. “Prowl, you’re still turned around sideways by that whole incident with Chip?” 

Prowl couldn’t help the slow, defensive rise of his doorwings, ‘That Whole Incident’, which had consisted of his clash with the Decepticons and subsequent crippling, and in his plea for help, which resulted in the takeover of his body by one admittedly very brilliant and resourceful human by the name of Chip Chase.

They’d been successful that day in battle, but it took Prowl months to rid himself of that invasive feeling deep in his struts, of moving so unnaturally and the dissociation that accompanied it. 

So, damn right he was defensive, not keen to be used as a living puppet again, even in the pursuit of pleasure or power.

Ironhide wasn't looking at him as if he was weak, or in any sort of pity. 

"If you don't want it, you don't want it," he said in a slow drawl. “Soon enough bots’ll realize this is just some lil’ trick, and switch it off or whatever you gotta do t’ make the signals stop.” 

He shuttered one optic in a friendly, jaunty wink. “‘Sides, I do better at the more  _ conventional _ methods of ‘facing anyways.” 

Prowl  _ had _ opened his mouth to agree with him, up until Ironhide mentioned his prowess in the berth. Now, when his wings rose instinctually, it was with an interested flutter that the super-charged engex made more expressive. He lifted his glass to take another swallow, and spoke. 

“Plugging in is far more visceral,” he agreed, self-conscious of how husky his voice sounded. “And of course utilizing touch, or one’s array can be wonderfully... Physical.” 

Prowl leaned back into his chair as he spoke, enjoying- and surprised that he  _ was _ enjoying how Ironhide’s gaze traced down his frame and over his bumper. 

Ironhide’s optics slid back up to lock with Prowl’s, and Prowl watched as Ironhide’s glossa peeked out to swipe across his bottom lip. It was a sure sign of arousal, and several of the possible outcomes of this encounter seemed more and more like good ideas.

He let his own gaze move over Ironhide’s frame, knowing very well it tended to be described as intense and scouring. From the surprised look on his face, it was as well effective as he wanted. 

“It’s too bad we’re not on Cybertron,” he murmured. “If we were, our wayward troops  _ would _ be willing to fall back on the methods you yourself may call the gold standard.” 

Ironhide’s expression morphed slowly from open surprise into a devilishly handsome smirk. His frame shifted from it’s relaxed sprawl into one of readiness to move, with both pedes solid on the floor and his posture coiled, as if he was about to spring. 

“It’s too bad we’ve both been drinking,” he purred in turn, voice dropped into a lower register. “Because right now I’d like to show you l don’t  _ need _ Cybertron to show you my  _ gold standard.”  _

Oh, this  _ was  _ perfect. 

Prowl chuckled, and the sound that would usually send troops fleeing for the hills just made Ironhide’s optics widen further in his interest

“ _ I’m _ confident of my faculties.” Prowl stated boldly, letting the challenge fill his voice. “If you’re not of yours then there’s no worry, my feelings won’t be hurt if you walk out of my office.” 

Ironhide seemed to consider it, seeming to know very well the offer for what it was. He stood slowly,frame-language still coiled as if he was readying a strike. Prowl could practically predict his movements as he came around his desk, could tell exactly when all that metaphorical potential energy snapped, and Ironhide caged him back against it, hands to either side.

A thrill chased through Prowl, heightening his senses even as his light buzz heightened his thrill. He reached out as if he was going to touch Ironhide but abstained, giving the action for show more than if it was in actual impulse. 

“I want to hear it,” he half-ordered, letting those hands hover- a promise. 

Ironhide’s optics blazed, but just those looks of lust and intrigue wouldn’t be enough and in all the years they’d known each other there was an understanding already of how this new dance would work. 

“You want to hear so bad how I want you?” Ironhide asked, voice edging on cynical. “How I’d like to frag you through yer desk right now? See if you can make me scream?” 

Prowl rewarded him with half-shuttered optics, with reaching his hands to smooth his digit-tips over Ironhide’s frame, singling out his seams and those areas he was sure had to be sensor-laden with sure and kind touches. 

And then he took hold, and flipped them. 

Prowl’s chair skidded out of the way with a sure kick of his pede, and he had Ironhide sprawled out on his desk and was slotted between his thighs. Ironhide’s expression would be comic if not for how revved up he was. 

“Correct,” he purred, and put a spirited thrust of his hips against Ironhide’s pelvic housing behind his words. “But rest assured that I know very well that I could make you scream.” A second thrust, and the reverberations through their frames along with the loud clang drew a strangled gasp out of Ironhide and appeared to draw him out of his moment of shock. 

Ironhide met Prowl’s coming kiss as he stretched himself up over Ironhide’s frame and took the opportunity to nip at his lip and grope at his prominent bumper while it was in easy reach. Prowl’s soft moan into his mouth shot a shivering thrill right through him, enough to have him snapping aside his hardline covers without another thought. Prowl’s mouth curved a smile into their kiss, and let his hand wander that way. 

He’d show him, alright. 


	8. Distant Star

Optimus wouldn’t admit it to anyone, but he took the long way around to avoid his second in command’s office. Prowl was extremely capable, nigh unflappable, but what was going on had him acting up worse than he ever had. At this point, Optimus was willing to go to quite extreme lengths to avoid contact with him. Or Red Alert. Or even Ironhide, for that matter.

It was a relief to get to the rec room without any more comms or notices about public indecency or complaints about new Decepticon techniques that couldn’t be trusted. Never mind that it had been an Autobot invention in the first place. And if Ironhide gave him one more concealed comment about preserving the old ways he thought he may just snap.

He was not looking forward to the next officer’s meeting. Prowl’s suggested itinerary was already long enough for three meetings.

It would have been easier if he agreed with them. Quite often, he did. But not about this.

He grinned behind his mask as he walked towards the energon dispenser. He didn’t understand how anyone could be unhappy about this, honestly. He hadn’t seen this many happy Autobots since…

He couldn’t even remember. In his chest, the Matrix pulsed joyfully.

“Hey, Optimus!”

“Hello, Wheeljack,” he replied pleasantly. “Good day so far?”

“The best.” The inventor grinned. “Yours?”

“There’s hope for it yet,” Optimus conceded. He winked at Wheeljack. “It depends on whether Prowl actually leaves at the end of his shift or not.”

“Gotcha.” Wheeljack nodded. “I think Jazz had some plans to try and lighten him up. Once he was done with… some other plans.”

“Say no more.” Optimus chuckled. “I really don’t need to know.”

He _ really _ didn’t. He was happy everyone was happy, of course he was, and he’d be one of the first to agree that this new technique seemed to be nothing but a good thing. That didn’t mean he needed the details of who was doing what to whom at any given point in time. No matter what Red Alert said.

Wheeljack laughed. “Fair enough. Hey, Perceptor and I had this thought we wanted to run by you, if you have a moment?”

“Go ahead,” Optimus replied as he reached towards the dispenser. “I’ll listen.”

He lost track of Wheeljack’s explanation almost immediately, though. And he almost dropped his cube.

… someone’s phantom touch was gliding up the inside of his left leg.

He made an attempt to focus on Wheeljack while trying to determine where the touch came from. None of the other Autobots in the rec room were paying them any attention, but that was no guarantee for anything. Not when touch was possible from a distance.

The touch came again, this time coupled with a ping to his comm. A ping from a very familiar code.

“It sounds interesting,” he said hurriedly, interrupting Wheeljack. “I was just commed, would you send me a memo on the rest?”

Wheeljack looked at him strangely. Perhaps he guessed that Optimus hadn’t heard a word of what he’d said. “Yeah, sure. I’ll send it over, Prime.”

“Thank you, Wheeljack.” That touch on his leg was getting very distracting, and the ping to his comm turned insistent. He wouldn’t be able to ignore either much longer. “I must be going.”

He ignored the curious look on the engineer’s faceplates and hurried from the rec room. The halls were mercifully empty, with no one there to see his increasingly stumbly gait. The touch had migrated from his leg, over his aft to his waist, teasing licks of charge dipping into the transformation seams there.

It was  _ very  _ distracting.

“Optimus? What’s up? Ya seem distracted.”

Optimus turned to see his third in command coming out of someone’s quarters - and he tried not to see whose. Jazz looked curious, almost worried, and that wouldn’t do.

“Oh, nothing,” Optimus replied. The touch chose that moment to move to his hip, making him shiver. “I’m merely heading to my quarters. I… forgot something.”

Jazz’s face suddenly split into a wide grin. “Sure ya did. Well, don’t let me stop you.”

Optimus sighed. This would be all over base by morning. “Fine. Goodnight, Jazz.”

“Have a good night, Optimus.”

Double entendre completely intended.

Optimus finally got to his quarters, hurrying inside and locking the door. He set his schedule to ‘busy’, putting in some nonsense about recharge - Ratchet was always on his back about that, anyway - and finally, finally accepted the comm call.

::Hello, lover,:: Starscream purred. ::Did you miss me?::

::Starscream,:: Optimus sighed, leaning against the wall and promptly sliding to the floor. His legs were weak. ::This is an unnecessary risk.::

::Unnecessary nothing,:: Starscream scoffed. ::We haven’t talked in ages. And I finagled a few favors out of Soundwave, so this encryption is as secure as it can be.:: His voice dropped into that purring register again. ::I have something for you.::

::Oh? Is it more chances of spark failure?::

::Shut up,:: Starscream retorted, but Optimus could tell he was smiling. ::Tell me honestly that you’re not happy that I called, and I’ll close the connection.::

::I’m not happy,:: Optimus tried. Even he could hear the hesitance in his voice.

::Liar,:: Starscream teased. ::Didn’t know you had it in you.:: That touch migrated up to tease Optimus’ windshield. It reminded Optimus of the very real danger Starscream had put himself in. ::You shouldn’t be this close to the base,:: he tried. The stern effect he was going for was kind of spoiled by the gasp he couldn’t hold back as Starscream caressed the back of his knee. ::You’ll be seen.::

::I won’t be seen. Anyway, who says I’m close to the base?:: Another touch flicked over Optimus’ sensitive seams, a sharp hint of disapproval in the sharpness of it.

::Where are you then?::

Starscream’s tone turned teasing. ::Wouldn’t you like to know?::

::Starscream…:

::Oh, fine.:: Starscream huffed. ::I’m not taking any risks. I’m on Denali.::

::Denali?:: Optimus sat bolt upright again. ::That’s in Alaska. That’s…::

:: _ Really _ far away, I know.:: Starscream sounded smug. ::Told you I wasn’t in any danger.::

::But - how - ::

Starscream huffed again. ::You ask a lot of questions for someone about to be distance-fragged by their rarely seen lover. I said I convinced Soundwave to help me out a little. He has this little trick that lets him bounce the frag signals off the human satellites, so he can frag his lover in high orbit. I just… copied it. Now, are you going to get yourself to a berth, or do we have to reschedule? Getting off base isn’t easy for me, you know. Even with most of the Decepticons busy fragging each other’s bolts out.::

Optimus had so many questions he didn’t know where to start. But Starscream was right, this really wasn’t the time for questions. ::Fair enough. I’m moving.::

::Good,:: Starscream purred. The touch teased across Optimus’ aft, which felt really strange considering he was still pretty much sitting on it. ::I have missed you.::

::I’ve missed you as well,:: Optimus admitted. ::Have you been safe?::

That touch pressed against his cheek, affectionate. ::I have. Everyone’s too busy fragging to worry about little old me. Are you on your berth yet?::

Optimus pushed himself to his feet. ::Almost there.::

::Liar,:: Starscream teased again. The chuckle was welcome, a sweeter sound than most would think Starscream capable of and one most mecha never got to hear. Optimus treasured it.

::You got me.:: He staggered through his quarters and finally dropped onto the berth, twisting to lie on his back. ::I’m there now. How do I reciprocate? We haven’t tested the tech fully, but Ratchet said it was unlikely that the signal would have a range of more than a kilometer or so.::

::Well, I don’t know what kind of half-done mess your medic is working with. But I can set you up with the real deal if you like.:: Starscream’s tone turned teasing. ::How bad do you want it, Optimus?::

::Please,:: Optimus replied. It was all he really needed to say.

A moment later, an information packet appeared in his inbox.

::Download that,:: Starscream said. ::And let me know when it’s working.::

Optimus examined the packet. No few of his officers would chew him out for this, but he trusted Starscream. He opened it.

The program inside installed painlessly, and Optimus really didn’t feel any different. He wasn’t sure if it had worked or not. Well, not until he focused on what he wanted to do to Starscream.

::Oh fraaag yes,:: the seeker moaned. ::Oh Primus right, there, you’ve got it. You know, I miss your hands and I miss your spike even more, but this isn’t a bad substitute.::

Optimus grinned and lay back, legs slightly spread as if making room for Starscream between them. He focused on what it would feel like to touch those sleek wings, and his hands tingled.

::Ohhhh you’re too good at this for someone who’s never done it before.:: There was no trace of screech left in Starscream’s voice, it was all low and sultry and setting Optimus’ lines on fire. ::Frag, lover, that’s good.::

Optimus made to reply, but the touch across his abdomen and legs didn’t let him. ::You’re not bad yourself, Star,:: he teased. ::Have you been practicing?::

::Pfft, as if I’d deign to touch anyone else.:: Starscream snorted. ::Possessive, Prime?::

::I’d gladly possess every part of you if you let me,:: Optimus replied honestly. He ‘touched’ the seam over Starscream’s spark. ::Just say the word.::

::I wish it was that simple,:: Starscream sighed, and Optimus arched at a particularly clever touch to his pelvic seams. ::For now, everything but this is really complicated.::

::Then let’s keep things simple for now,:: Optimus agreed, teasing Starscream’s wings again. ::Handle the complications later.::

::You would want to handle them,:: Starscream grumbled, but Optimus could tell it was good-natured. ::What happened to simple fragging?::

::What happened to not fragging someone from the other faction?:: Optimus retorted. He ‘touched’ Starscream’s face reverently. ::I know I wouldn’t trade what we have, Star.::

::More fragging, less talking,:: Starscream retorted with a particularly clever nibble to Optimus’ chest. Optimus recognized the tactic for what it was, though, and let the heavy discussion wait until another time. He hadn’t given up on getting Starscream to discuss the future yet, but he could understand that the seeker wasn’t in the mood.

Besides, it wasn’t like discovering how this new technique worked on Starscream was a big sacrifice. Not when he felt so good under Optimus’ phantom hands and purred so prettily into his comm.

::How long do you have?:: he managed, biting his lower lip and trembling under Starscream’s talented touch.

::All night,:: Starscream whispered. ::I’ve got all night, lover.::

That sounded good to Optimus. Really, really good. ::Then let’s not waste it.::

Who knew when they’d get a chance like this again. Though, with the long-distance tech Soundwave had implemented, Optimus would be able to reach Starscream from anywhere on the planet. And that was a tempting thought. A slightly treasonous one, but a tempting thought nonetheless.

Besides, if he had his way, there wouldn’t be sides for much longer.

::You’re thinking too hard again,:: Starscream accused.

Optimus chuckled. ::My apologies, Star. I should pay more attention to you, shouldn’t I?::

::Always.:: Starscream purred.

Yes, Optimus thought. Always sounded good.

For now, he satisfied himself with driving his seeker to overload in as many ways as possible.


	9. Infiltration

Optimus wasn’t the only one to have dreaded this officer’s meeting, he realized. Ratchet was already grumpy, despite having just walked through the door, Jazz was arguing quietly with Prowl as he pointed out certain items on today’s agenda, and Wheeljack was looking at said agenda with something very close to real horror.

Sometimes being a leader sucked slag.

He waited for Perceptor to take a seat and put his mountain of datapads on the table before calling for attention. “Let’s get started, shall we? There’s plenty to get through today.”

Perceptor raised a hand, almost knocking over a stack of datapads. “If I may, I’d like to suggest a change to today’s itinerary.”

The collective groan wasn’t quite heard, but it was there all the same. Prowl sat up straight, a small frown on his face. Optimus knew that if this had been any other mech, they would have been bristling.

“I don’t propose to remove any items,” Perceptor said hurriedly, sensing the tension in the room. “Merely a change of order. You see, Wheeljack and I made a breakthrough last night that I believe may take precedence and possibly have an impact on the other items on the agenda.”

“I have no objections,” Optimus said, overruling the irritation he could see brewing on Prowl’s face. “Let’s hear it.”

“Thank you.” Perceptor passed out a datapad to each of them. “You see, Wheeljack and I have been working on assessing this new technology of First Aid’s, trying to see if it has uses beyond the - um - recreational, as it were. And we stumbled upon something that may be significant.”

“The tech First Aid developed, that Soundwave built upon, was never meant to be specific to certain mechs,” Wheeljack took over. “Ya see, he wanted to use it to find injured soldiers, not to interface. It just kinda failed on him, and then this mess happened. But we figured, it’s still a wireless signal transfer from one mech to the next. There’s potential there. We could perhaps use it to communicate. Send hidden messages. Detect hidden mecha. And, yeah, find injured or lost Autobots in the field.”

“So we’ve been working on the signal itself,” Perceptor continued, sitting back down. “Trying to isolate the various frequencies, see if they could be connected to other parts of a mech’s frame to send different signals. It really is quite fascinating, and I look forward to talking more to First Aid about how he stumbled upon it. The signal can be manipulated almost endlessly, spread over such a large set of frequencies as to be almost unrecognizable, but it can also be singled out so that even if it’s sent on general frequencies it can only be detected by one mech and only in one way.”

“To sum that up,” Wheeljack said -

“And dumb it down a bit, please,” Ironhide added, winking,

“ - we can tailor the signal to target specific mecha while still broadcasting it so widely that it becomes lost in the signal chatter.” Wheeljack looked at Optimus. “Leaving it practically undetectable. By, say, Decepticon spy masters.”

A wave of shame washed over Optimus as he realized that this was what Wheeljack had been telling him about in the rec room, when he’d been - distracted.

“Wait.” Jazz’s focus was suddenly razor sharp. “You’re saying that you can take the ‘facing signal and tailor it to only match specific mecha?”

Prowl stared at him. “_ That’s _ what you took out of this? Not communication past enemy lines, not hiding information transfers in plain sight, not confirming the presence of prisoners without the need for infiltrating a base? Just more interfacing?”

Ratchet laughed. “Thought you knew by now that Jazz has a one-track processor.”

Jazz flashed him a grin. “Not that bad, mech. Just because you like taking advantage of it from time to time.” Ratchet jumped at a hidden touch. “No, what I’m talking about…” He turned towards Optimus and grinned widely. “Prime, I think I may have an idea that could end the war.”

Unsurprisingly, his idea was wildly unpopular with the command staff at large. Optimus had let his face fall into the rare double facepalm the moment Jazz gave the abridged outline of his plan. 

Even _ less _ surprisingly, both Ironhide and Prowl were in vehement protest of his plan, but what _ was _surprising was how they both jumped up from their seats simultaneously to yell at him. 

And wasn’t _ that _interesting, something Jazz would need to look into later- or maybe not, as they’d given each other some form of half-startled, half-mortified look that indicated very well to each other and the room at large how synced their systems were. 

But, that was besides the point. 

The _ point _was that in the end, Optimus Prime approved Jazz’s mission proposal, or at least he approved the part of it that had to do with intel gathering and disruption of any major plans of assault. 

It was a good thing that he and the Prime had An Understanding when it came to Jazz’s missions. Jazz would do what he needed, as he needed, as long as it didn’t involve more unsavory things happening, or those things never reaching the light of day- which of course was no longer so easy for their veritable stranding on this alien planet with the enemies practically wiping their pedes off on their doormat. 

So it was in short order that Jazz, Mirage and Bumblebee were on their way down to the Nemesis. His agents were as seasoned in this arena as he was, and if not for Soundwave and his little spy network of cassetticons, they’d all three be down in the Decepticon warship constantly, wrecking havoc as much as they could for the benefit of their faction. 

They also had the full mission plan, and while Mirage had put up a flat cursory protest, he knew very well there was no way he would be able to dissuade Jazz from something he really planned to do. 

At the same time, Jazz was well aware that if his plan didn’t work on his end- if he couldn’t pull off his mission with perfect finesse, then Mirage and Bee would have to bail him out, if there was anything left of him _ to _bail out. 

If _ that _ happened, then in this case Prowl would be proven correct, in the several colorful names he’d recently called Jazz, and the saboteur could not let that lie. 

* * *

So, when they hit the water, the trio of spies split up. Jazz watched via the sensors in his root mode as Mirage’s disruptor engaged, and he disappeared from sight. Bee flashed his lights as they entered the comm blackout range, and Jazz gave a jaunty bounce on his tires before switching modes to seek out one of his handy self-made entrances to the Nemesis. 

His internal map was riddled with the entrances both old and new, but in the past it was usually in a matter of hours that the openings had been repaired. 

The plan was simple, and so it was beautiful in its simplicity. Mirage and Bee would slip into the main body of the Nemesis and- if the Decepticons were actually functioning as a military as opposed to some kind of free-love frag fest, then they’d commence in setting off lower level alarms and tripping off whatever external traps as they could. Jazz had it on good authority that sea life wasn’t exactly a favorite of the ‘Cons, nor was low-level flooding. 

Jazz, however, would find himself on the upper officer quarters. It was the Decepticon resting period so it was unlikely Megatron, or Starscream or Soundwave for that matter, if they were there, would exit from their quarters or their tasks for another report of a wayward whale or crustacean infestation. 

But, in finding the last entrance that Mirage had used on his most recent mission unmolested, he couldn’t help but grin. It was a sign that there’d likely be no alarms today. That would mean minimal resistance, and he knew very well that Mirage and Bee would be executing the contingency plan in wait for Jazz’s move. 

So, when Jazz found himself in the vents of the officer’s corridor he was unsurprised to find it quiet, save for the lone cone-headed Decepticon slowly schlepping his way down the hall with a wobble to his knee joints. Jazz’s grin returned at full force, and he fired up his specially-altered program in preparation for the pièce de résistance of the mission at large. 

Of course, the object of his <strike> desire </strike> mission was not one known for his lack of any _ appetite _, so when Jazz’s special one-mech broadcast went out he found it responded to immediately, with an alluring tickle up his backstrut.

He sent a pulse back, meant to mimic a grope to the inner thigh, but trailed it off into a more teasing touch. His mark chased after, but he slapped those phantom hands aside with a deft pulse of his own. If he was going to do this, he needed that consent to make it work. 

So, he slipped down from the vents into the berthroom of his mark and dropped into a lounging lay on the floor, helm cradled by his hand, and visor half-dimmed in a wink. 

From his spot on his giant berth, Megatron stared at him. 

“Jazz.” Megatron’s tone was cool, if a little surprised. 

“Megs.” Jazz replied, switching his wink to the other side of his visor. He sent out that grope again, and watched as Megatron’s optics nearly popped out of his head. 

“It was you.” Megatron stated, awe and hunger coloring his voice as he sat up. Jazz was suddenly struck by the image of an apex predator, coming up out of a relaxed posture to hunt the ignorant prey animal who’d wandered into his lair. 

“It was me.” Jazz confirmed, purring his engine. “Heard you got a _ satisfaction and satiation _ issue. Wanna try me on for size?” 

Megatron seemed to start considering him even before he suggested it, but Jazz’s suggestion, paired with how he was laid out so pretty for him, brought a spark of appreciation to his expression. 

“You think you can sate my appetite.” Megatron stated. His optics roved up and down Jazz’s frame. “You look to be barely a meal, to me.”

A slow grin spread across Jazz’s face. “Guess you’ll have to eat me to find out, yeah?” he asked, slinking his way up onto the berth. 

Megatron’s optics flashed and he reached out, quick as a whip. Jazz saw him, saw him move, and considered the auto-start of his defensive protocols, but held still to show that in this situation- he had no fear of him. 

Megatron grabbed him and hauled him closer, watching keenly for the trick or perhaps, the knife. Jazz reached out and stroked boldly along the edge of Megatron’s chest plating, drawing charge along the trails of his digits. 

When the warlord’s large hand wrapped around his frame to grope at his aft, Jazz knew he’d won. 

Jazz took the bold route, moving his hand to skid across the expanse of Megatron’s chest, coming to the edge to skirt and play. He drew lines of charge in its wake, showing off his mastery of the program as deftly as he showed his desire to use it on the mech before him. 

Megatron let out a low rumble, deep in his chassis, and it was all the warning Jazz had before Megatron flipped them over, and he caged Jazz in with the bulk of his frame. Jazz spread his legs, as if either of them could do anything with that, as if it wouldn't end with painful chafing and a good deal of bleeding if Jazz let Megatron spike him. 

But, he could send that charge to tantalize around Megatron’s hips and deep into his inactive array, could gyrate and bang his closed paneling up against Megatron’s, and revel in the deep, guttural groan that came from the larger mech. 

And, he could be pleasantly surprised in turn when Megatron’s energy fed back into him, powerful and ragged spikes of charge contacting his neural net and running hot lust through his systems. 

Megatron was powerful, and obviously intended to display to Jazz what he’d be getting. The force of the charge, those phantom hands molesting at his headlights, as the mech himself reached to massage Jazz’s sensory horns was some kind of sublime.

He could see that the reports of Megatron’s frustration were certainly in a word, no kind of exaggerated. But, at the same time, he knew Megatron had met his match, even if Megatron didn’t seem to know it yet himself. 

Jazz slipped his hands upwards, coming to cup at the planes of Megatron’s face. 

“What are you-” His voice was husky, and then muffled, as Jazz soundly kissed him. 

Jazz watched with his visor dimmed, as Megatron’s optics blew wider, and then pinched at the inner edges as if in some kind of pained relief, before they closed, and his lips began to move against Jazz’s, in a display of utmost tenderness that the saboteur couldn’t ever have expected from him. 

He supposed, as he opened his mouth into Megatron’s, submitting to the invasion of the larger mech’s glossa into it- that even the likes of Megatron could want affection in his interfacing too. Said mech’s next pulse came as a thrust over the whole of Jazz’s body, starting at his hips and coming to tingle up under his bumper. 

Jazz pushed back against him as the pulse ebbed, focusing in around Megatron’s spark and those sensitive components he knew lay under that thick, reinforced war plating. Megatron broke the kiss to nip at Jazz’s jaw, using Jazz’s own trick against him to focus charge into the touches of his denta on his dermal plating, and then his neck cabling, and then further down, to his bumper and the admittedly more sensitive headlights he’d found so apparently pleasing to touch just prior. 

Not to be outdone, Jazz lashed out on two sides. It was a trick of expertise just as much as Megatron’s little sharpening maneuver with his charge, for Jazz to split the charge so to manipulate deep in the big mech’s substructure, playing at the deep internals around Megatron’s t-cog. Jazz grinned victoriously as Megatron’s body went rigid, frame bowing above him in overload. 

He held the charge hold strong even as his engine revved up to redline, knowing from experience that it was drawing the larger mech’s overload out, and would have the lovely side effect of a strong-

Jazz cried out in ecstasy when the feedback triggered his own overload and he held out in the grasp of pleasure as long as he could before letting his frame fall limp. Megatron crashed to his side on the big berth, and for a moment, both were silent, save for the whirr of their fans and the song pings of cooling metal. Jazz enjoyed the rest period, enjoyed how he still tingled from the bottom of his pedes to the tips of his sensory horns. 

The, after several of those near-silent moments, Jazz turned his head. 

“That all you got, big guy? Or can I take ya for another ride?” 

Megatron looked at him askance for just a moment, more in some flavor of disbelief than anything else, but that expression quickly gave way to a smirk. 

Then he reached for Jazz, to pull him over on top of his frame. 

Several overloads and likely a few fizzled circuits later, their momentum rolled to an amicable stop, with Jazz draped over the Decepticon Leader’s chest and shoulder plating, and Megatron laying flat beneath him, sprawled out flat. 

Jazz felt it was a fair assumption that this was the first time that the two of them had been sated since they landed on Earth and had been subsequently dried out. Jazz considered his next course of action- trying to decide how much of his personal interest he should reveal to keep Megatron engaged enough for a repeat performance sometime in the future, when a large hand smoothed it’s way up the back of Jazz’s leg to cup his aft. 

“I think I’ll keep you.” Megatron said, tone a husky purr. Jazz propped himself up- slowly- to look at him, only to find the warlord staring at him expectantly. Jazz cocked his head just so. 

“Maybe I’d _ like _ you t’keep me,” he said. “But I’m also not willin’ to commute for just a booty call, dig?” He began to push himself up, and in a display of speed, Megatron’s other hand came up to take firm hold of him at the shoulder. 

“Don’t insult me.” Megatron growled, optics narrowing. “You didn’t come down here looking for a ‘booty call’. You were as desperate as I was. No one here was worthy of me, nor my stamina, just as I assume no one could fully sate _ you.” _

Jazz pursed his lips. Megatron was smart, but he didn’t need to know that. A flash-quick check-in told him Bee and Mirage were still safe and whole, in standby. 

Megatron huffed at his appearance of contemplative silence, and sat up in one smooth motion, stilling holding him close to his frame. 

“Slaggit Jazz, tell me what you _ want _from me, and you’ll have it!” 

Jazz didn’t bother to hide his smile and he leaned forward to plant a delicate peck on the tip of the larger mech’s nasal ridge. 

“Why Megatron, I was _ hoping _ you’d say that.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The lovely art in this chapter was done by [Xydek!](https://twitter.com/Xydeksalot) Here's [Xydek's tumblr](https://xydek.tumblr.com/) and her [Pillowfort, too!](https://www.pillowfort.social/Xydek). ♥


	10. Negotiations

This early in the day, the Ark was quiet. Peaceful. For once not plagued by the giggling and cut-off moans and loaded looks that had been such a nuisance recently. It was Prowl’s favorite part of the day, being the commander on deck for the beginning of this shift, and he was determined to enjoy it to the fullest.

So Blaster’s half-frantic hail about an incoming call from the Nemesis was altogether unwelcome. Both because it meant that Jazz somehow - of course - had gotten into trouble, but also because it meant that Prowl’s hard-earned, well-deserved moment of peace and tranquility was disturbed.

::Patch it through,:: he sent back, suppressing the sigh. Trust Jazz to find a way to frag up his morning, even from the enemy base.

The console in front of him lit up, and sure enough, there Jazz was. He was leaning forward so Prowl could only see his head and most of his shoulders. It was no doubt intentional - either he was using a tiny comm system, or he was trying to conceal whatever was behind him. Come to think of it, Prowl didn’t recognize the grey wall Jazz was leaning against. Maybe Jazz had gotten himself stuck somewhere new this time.

_ “There we go,” _ Jazz said, grinning easily.  _ “Hiya, Prowler.” _

“Jazz,” Prowl acknowledged. “I trust this is important.”

_ “Well, kinda.” _ Jazz’s grin fell slightly, and the smile it turned into was nothing short of sly. Prowl would have shuddered if he didn’t have such a control over his frame.  _ “Prime around yet?” _

“Do you see Prime before you?” Prowl answered evenly. Jazz knew very well that Prime would have taken the call himself had he been there.

_ “Fair enough, fair enough. Well, guess I’d better take my business to you, then.” _ The grin deepened.  _ “I’m calling on behalf of the Decepticons to initiate negotiations for cessation of hostilities and a hopefully lasting peace.” _

Prowl’s doorwings shot straight up before he locked them down with a vengeance. “ _ What. _ ”

_ “You heard me, Prowler.”  _ Jazz grinned, clearly enjoying the reaction he’d caused.

“How?” Prowl demanded. “How can  _ you _ ask this? Did you hack Megatron? Primus, Jazz, are you _ defecting? _ ”

_ “Whoa, no, Prowl, no. I’m not defecting. And as for Megatron…”  _ Jazz leaned back slightly, so more of the backdrop came into view.  _ “He’s completely on board with this.” _

Prowl gaped. That was… Jazz was…

Jazz was sitting in Megatron’s lap.

Instantly, Prowl’s battle computer spun into a frenzy, calculating risks and assessments and trying to figure out what Jazz had known (which was all of it, naturally) and how many plans would have to be scrapped (all of them). He sent out pings to Mirage and Bumblebee, sent a heavily encrypted comm to Red Alert, and had Blaster call back any Autobots currently not on base.

Within two seconds, bright red light was pulsing through the Ark as the Autobot base went into full defense mode.

On the screen, Jazz groaned and threw up his hands. _ “Prowler, you’re overreacting.” _

“Where are Mirage and Bumblebee?” Prowl demanded tersely. The most likely reason for Jazz’s surrender would be if his subordinates were in trouble.

_ “They’re fine,” _ Jazz replied. _ “Healthy and dandy and on their way back as we speak.” _

The returning pings from the two agents confirmed his words, though Prowl had severe doubts as to both their health and their - dandiness. Sanity. He sent another encrypted comm to Red Alert and one to Ratchet. The two operatives would be taken straight to the cells for questioning, and would not be allowed to leave until it was certain that they weren’t carrying anything nefarious in their systems or processors.

_ “I know what you’re thinking,” _ Jazz continued.  _ “Your mind is running a million miles a minute right now. But trust me, Prowl. This is genuine.” _

“You’re hardly in a situation to be trusted,” Prowl forced out through gritted denta.

Behind Jazz, Megatron sighed. His large hands came up and shifted Jazz bodily aside.  _ “I told you this was a bad idea.” _ He leaned forward, red optics fixing Prowl with a firm look. “ ** _I_ ** _ wish to initiate negotiations for cessation of hostilities and a hopefully lasting peace.  _ ** _Now_ ** _ will you get your Prime?” _

Prowl hesitated, then nodded. “He’s on his way.”

* * *

“What.” Ironhide said. Prowl couldn’t help but feel that was an accurate summation of the situation.

Prime, of course, was the very picture of patience. “Megatron wants to negotiate. We have a real chance of ending the war here.”

“Aside from the very real chance that he’s hacked Jazz, or that Jazz hacked him, or they somehow hacked each other and it all ended in one giant clusterfrag,” Wheeljack added.

That was accurate too.

Prime sighed and looked up at the comm screen on the wall. “How are Mirage and Bumblebee?”

“Clean, as far as I can tell,” Ratchet replied, looking up at the camera from inside the brig cell. He looked tired. “Nothing wired to blow, no hidden surprises. Red Alert has another three or four - all right, seven - tests he wants to run to make absolutely sure they haven’t been hacked, but so far, they’re in the clear.”

“Did Megatron say what had brought this on?” Wheeljack asked. “I mean, no one decides overnight to just give up the cause they’ve been fighting for for centuries.”

“He said he’d been convinced,” Prime replied, shrugging slightly. “I assume there’s a story there.”

“Yeah, a tall tale,” Ironhide grumbled, once again hitting the nail on the head. “Ya know ya can’t believe him, Prime.”

“I believe him enough to agree to a meeting,” Optimus replied. He raised a hand to stave off the inevitable protest. “I know your concerns. We will choose the location. We will come armed. And we will be careful. Everything indicates this may be a trap.” He looked at Prowl, and reached out to put a hand on his shoulder. “Plan for every eventuality, my friend.”

Prowl nodded briskly. “Of course, Prime.”

* * *

A few days later Prowl stood on the open arid rock, every eventuality covered. Cosmos was watching from space. Skyfire surveilling in near orbit. The Decepticons had all gathered on top of the butte he’d specified, and their numbers had been confirmed. The Autobots were spaced out, three and three, in a loose perimeter surrounding the Prime. Prowl himself and Ironhide stood behind their leader - Prowl hadn’t trusted anyone else to be level-headed enough for this. Superion and Defensor both stood ready to deploy at a moment’s notice, and Blaster had all communications but their own on lockdown.

They were as ready as they could ever be.

In the distance, he could see three Decepticons coming closer - Megatron, flanked by Soundwave and Starscream. He could see Optimus tensing slightly.

“Megatron,” the Prime greeted as the Decepticon leader touched down, the gravel crunching under his pedes.

“Prime.” Megatron smirked. “Want your saboteur back?”

Starscream, the only one in alt mode, landed gracefully behind him. His cockpit popped open and a familiar Autobot leapt out. As soon as Jazz was clear, Starscream transformed. He winked at Optimus before taking his place on Megatron’s right.

Prowl could feel his processor stalling at the gesture. What could  _ that _ mean?

“Jazz,” Optimus said, relief clear in his voice. “Are you alright?”

“Good as ever, OP,” Jazz replied easily. Instead of coming over to stand at Optimus’ side, he took up position midway between the two leaders. “Now, behave. Both of you.”

Megatron chuckled. “As you wish.”

Prowl listened in growing agitation as the two leaders talked. In between the concessions and conditions and terms that he had expected, there were so many small hints and clues that he couldn’t make sense of. All the unknowns were wreaking havoc on his processor.

“I’m sure we can work together to develop our respective technologies further,” Megatron said. “After all, Soundwave has already improved your little interfacing signal to reach further than the limits you’re familiar with.”

“Yes,” Prime agreed. “So I’ve heard.”

How did the Prime know that?

Not much later, it was Megatron who surprised  _ him _ . “We’ve been lagging for a while, truth be told. This recent discovery of yours boosted morale, I must say, but even so, I couldn’t find it in me to order an attack.”

“Too busy getting your bolts fragged out,” Jazz teased. “Not that it did much good before I showed up, did it?”

“True,” Megatron rumbled, and the touch to Jazz’s helm was almost affectionate.

_ Don’t crash. Don’t crash. Don’t crash. _

Prowl tried to busy himself with running checks on the troops, check-ins with Cosmos and Skyfire, using their images to keep tabs on the Decepticons. He resolutely buried any thoughts of what the touches and small clues meant, ruthlessly cutting any processor thread that tried to analyze the behavior. Ignored the way Jazz and Megatron were steadily shuffling closer to each other, forcing Soundwave and Starscream to close the distance as well. Tried not to notice the winks and glances Starscream aimed at Optimus Prime. Took some support in the unwavering, solid presence of Ironhide besides him.

He had it under control. Until suddenly he didn’t.

“I don’t think we’ll have any problems, Prime,” Megatron said. “After all, it turns out more than half of my command staff are already having illicit affairs with you and your Autobots. I think we may even be up to almost all of them now, unless Onslaught’s been up to something I don’t know about. Also, could you tell your colorful Praxian to stop distracting Devastator? That combiner’s dumb enough already, I don’t need him thinking with his spike.”

_ Don’tcrashdon’tcrashdon’tcrash _

… Wait, Prime  _ and _ his Autobots?

Optimus stuttered. “I- I’m sure Smokescreen can be reasoned with. And as for the rest, I’m afraid I have no knowledge of it.”

“You always were a terrible liar,” Starscream purred. “Good thing you don’t have to keep any secrets anymore, isn’t it?”

Prowl stared. In front of him, Prime ducked his head and  _ blushed _ .

Finally, inevitably, Prowl crashed.

* * *

It wasn’t the last time. The negotiations put his mind through the kind of illogical behavior he hadn’t ever encountered before - the antics of Jazz and Sideswipe were nothing compared to Skywarp. Or Starscream. Or - Primus protect him - Rumble and Frenzy. All put together, Prowl spent a lot more time in medbay than he ever had before. And when he wasn’t there, he tried to spend as little time as possible wandering the hallways. One time stumbling over Skywarp moaning in unmistakable overload, Sideswipe smirking next to him and crooning something about new jet judo, was enough to scar Prowl for a lifetime.

He kept cursing the agreement that had let the enemy faction as a whole move into the Autobot base.

He wasn’t the only one bothered by the Decepticons’ sudden presence at the Ark. Red Alert, he knew, spent all of his time in the security hub these days, relying on Inferno to keep him fueled and crash-free. Prowl got hourly reports detailing what every Decepticon was doing.

He’d delegated those reports to Trailbreaker and Smokescreen. Then he’d asked Inferno for daily summaries.

At least early morning shifts were still the same. Mostly. He had to share them with Soundwave, which Blaster was still bristling about. At least he was free from Starscream - the blasted seeker preferred to share his shifts with Jazz, which suited Prowl just fine. And it had the added bonus of keeping both Megatron and Optimus focused when they were on shift.

The whole mess still made Prowl’s processor ache alarmingly. No amount of arguing that Megatron and Prime were actually making great strides towards peace by being forced to work together or that Prime brought out the best in Starscream or that Jazz was one of the few mecha that Megatron now listened to could ever make him comfortable with the fact that his leader as well as the mech he’d considered his best friend were both getting comfy in Decepticon berths.

(Ironhide pointing out that it was actually the ‘Cons getting comfortable in Autobot berths didn’t help, either. In Prowl’s opinion, Ironhide was too happy about the entire everything to be fully reliable.

Not that that kept him from going back to Ironhide’s berth. The two of them were still the only holdouts in a sea of signal-crazed distance-fraggers. And curse Jazz for that term, anyway.)

He tried to suppress the sigh and the drop of doorwings. Sharing a shift with Soundwave was quiet, but tense - the Decepticon spymaster saw absolutely everything, and Prowl had no doubt that any motion would be a telling sign of weakness he couldn’t afford.

Soundwave stayed focused on his console. He didn’t give any sign that he’d noticed Prowl’s momentary lapse in control.

At least that was something.

He made it to the end of his shift without problems, despite Red Alert’s frantic reports on what Skywarp was yet again doing with Sideswipe in public hallways. Prowl made a mental note to talk to Prime about it - they wouldn’t be able to keep the peace if they couldn’t reprimand each other’s soldiers. He’d need to be able to send Skywarp to the brig, and he’d need Soundwave or Onslaught or one of the other level-headed Decepticons to have the authority to do the same to Sideswipe, or this behavior would never stop.

He’d never thought he’d see the day where he’d willingly hand over one of their own soldiers to the Decepticons for punishment. Then again, he’d never thought he’d see Megatron and Prime reporting for duty together, either, jostling each other and laughing at a common joke like a pair of old friends.

His helm ached.

It intensified when Blaster turned towards him with a wide grin on his face. It was the kind of expression that could spell nothing but trouble.

“I have the humans on the line,” Blaster informed them casually. Too casually, if the way he was almost vibrating with suppressed laughter was a clue. “They say they’ve discovered some form of alien signal piggybacking on their satellite transmissions. They’ve been working at it for weeks, but they’re not making any progress, and now they’re asking the Autobots’ help. It’s a matter of national, possibly even global security, they say.”

Behind Blaster, Rewind was rolling around on the floor and giggling silently.

Megatron sighed and turned towards a suddenly awkward-looking Soundwave. Prowl had no idea how the expression came through so clearly, what with the visor and faceplate, but Soundwave was almost radiating discomfort and embarrassment.

“Affirmative. Soundwave: been using satellites to get in touch with Cosmos.”

Prowl facepalmed so hard he near gave himself a processor concussion. “Are you telling me,” he said slowly, “that you’ve jeopardized our relationship with the humans, hacked their technology, and risked our continued existence on this planet, just because you were so desperate that you had to  _ signal-frag Cosmos in space? _ ”

Blaster finally lost control and began laughing like a madmech.

Prowl dragged a hand across his face. “Prime, the bridge is yours. Soundwave, you will call the humans and sort this out, preferably without any bloodshed.”

“Where are you going?” Prime sounded curious, but there was an undertone of mirth there. “Your shift isn’t over yet?”

For once, Prowl didn’t care. The level of insanity this base had reached was finally too much for him to bother dealing with. Let Prime tidy up his own mess this time. “I’ll be in my quarters,” he said stiffly, walking out. “Or, well, Ironhide’s quarters.”

He ignored the chuckling behind him as he stalked away. He had no doubt this would make its way through the base before noon, since the Decepticons were just as bad as the Autobots when it came to gossip. But for once he decided he didn’t care.

Though he did aim a glare at Skywarp as he walked past him still trembling on the floor.

Ironhide blinked up at him when he let himself in. The larger mech was still in berth, half in recharge. “Mornin’, Prowl. Something up?”

“The usual idiocy,” Prowl sighed. He sat down on the berth, laying down against Ironhide when the red mech made room for him. “Distract me? In the best way possible?”

Ironhide grinned and pulled him close. “Gladly.”

Prowl steadfastly ignored the laughter and loud voices in the hallway, as well as the notice popping up on his HUD that ordered Cosmos back to Earth and Blast Off out in his place. He focused on losing himself in Ironhide.

“Hey,” his lover murmured. “I can feel ya thinkin’. It’ll be okay, Prowl. All of it.”

Maybe. Prowl would worry about it later. For now, with Ironhide’s digits teasing his doorwings and a hot mouth on his own, he could let it go.

At least, until the command channel crackled to life on his comm.

::Jazz! Stop distracting Megatron!::

::I will when you let Starscream be, boss bot! He’s all but writhing in the rec room!::

Prowl groaned and let his head drop down on Ironhide’s shoulder with a thunk.

Ironhide chuckled, arms tightening around him. “Hey. Want to get out of here? I hear the weather’s nice this time of year?”

Prowl chuckled. “I’d love to. Later.” First, he had some unfinished business to attend to. Shutting down his comm suite took care of Optimus and Jazz bickering. Offlining his audials dealt with Skywarp’s laughing in the hallway outside. Then there was just Ironhide left, looking up at Prowl with curious optics.

Prowl stroked Ironhide’s hardline cover. “Link with me?”

Ironhide’s smile was answer enough.


	11. Epilogue

First Aid, for the most part, had found some form of contentment.

Morale was at an all-time high, and he supposed that he could be fairly glad about that, at least. He had, as one of his gestalt-mates had so helpfully pointed out, successfully really made love, not war. So there was something to be proud of on that account. 

But still, he’d not successfully completed his diagnostic program. Yet. 

There was _ still _ something there he just couldn’t grasp, and it gnawed at his brain module like a nasty case of scraplets on a severed limb. 

So, First Aid found himself sitting in the medbay office, staring down his datapad as if somehow it held those extremely specific secrets to the universe. 

After so long, he slumped as he sat at the desk and put his helm in his hands as he’d found himself to be prone to do, those days. Ratchet, bastion of sympathy that he was, hesitated a moment before coming over and giving First Aid’s shoulder a few limp pats. 

“I have something for you, if it helps?” Ratchet had produced a datapad from somewhere, and was holding it at Aid’s other side. 

Slowly, the younger medic sat himself up and it was just as slowly that he took hold of the pad to behold its contents. 

And then he reset his optics.

And _ then _ he looked up at Ratchet, who wore a downright devilish expression, that morphed into a facade of innocence when First Aid squinted up at him. 

“I’m getting a commendation,” he said, more flat, unimpressed statement than a question. “For making the thing that’s got everyone fragging.” 

Ratchet’s grin came back, more genuine than mischievous. Without saying a word, he leaned just so to reach into Aid’s space and flick at the screen of the pad with the tip of his digit. 

First Aid couldn’t help the choked little gasp. It was another certificate of commendation- or rather, a list of his coming commendations. Yes, one was for the interfacing program, but the next was meritorious, for helping to aid in further Cybertronian peace. One was in pursuit of the highest medical care for his patient- signed by one CMO Ratchet- and the last- 

First Aid swung back up to look at Ratchet, knowing his voice was choked with emotion and unable, in that moment, to give a damn. 

“But-” he said, “ I’ve- I can’t…” He took a vent. “I’ve not completed my diagnostic tool yet, I don’t deserve any commendation in the advance of technology- certainly not for Cybertronian welfare.” 

Ratchet smiled again, and there was a kind of absolute joy and pride in his expression, along with just that little bit of bashfulness when he spoke. 

“See here’s the thing, kid.” He crossed his arms in front of his bumper. “I had a chat with our friends in the science corps. They agreed to help you- and me- figure out how to bridge that last gap for your wireless diagnostic tool.” He continued, as First Aid gaped at him. “Both Prime _ and _ Ol’ Bucket head say if we get it done before the vorn is out, we’ll all get that commendation from both sides. For _ furthering the peace _ and all.” 

For a moment, First Aid was silent. 

And then, overcome with emotion as he was, he jumped up from the seat and embraced his mentor, datapad forgotten. 

* * *

There should have been a difference. There should have been. But somehow, sharing the bridge with Jazz had become as natural as sharing it with his trine had been. And with Optimus distracting him whenever he wasn’t in recharge, whether either of them were on duty or not…

Life was good. At last.

Starscream smirked at Megatron. The lovesick fool should have left already, considering his shift had ended, but instead he was draped over Jazz’s back like an especially menacing-looking shadow. The humans had a saying about wrapping someone around their little digits that seemed especially apt here.

Not that Starscream figured he had too much room to talk. But at least he wasn’t making such a complete fool of himself. Not in public, anyway.

“You should go refuel,” he said softly, turning his head just enough to give Optimus’ cheek a nuzzle. “You’re no good to anyone if you collapse from lack of fuel.”

“You take way too good care of me for that,” Optimus replied. Large hands caressed Starscream’s waist. “Besides, we haven’t completed the shift briefing yet.”

“Oh?” Starscream turned around fully in Optimus’ arms and smirked. “Is there anything to report beyond ‘all’s well, Sideswipe signal-fragged Skywarp in the corridor again, Red Alert’s fritzing but Prowl’s handling him’?”

Optimus smiled and opened his mouth, but whatever he meant to say was interrupted by an incoming hail on the main communications console. Bumblebee accepted the connection and froze, hand in the air and optics wide.

“Um. Sirs? All of you? I think this is for you.”

Starscream disentangled himself from Optimus’ arms and stepped away, making it at least look like they were professional. From the corner of his optic he noticed Megatron doing the same thing. At least the old fool had some of his faculties left.

“Patch it through, Bumblebee,” Optimus said. He was using the tone of quiet and confident command, and Starscream felt the delicious shivers racing down his back struts at the sound.

The large screen in front of them lit up with a very unwelcome visage. One Starscream had honestly forgotten about in all the chaos that had been going on, and one he would have been quite happy to never see again.

“Shockwave,” Megatron acknowledged. “I trust you received my briefing and instructions.”

“Received and acknowledged, Lord Megatron,” Shockwave replied. The signal was surprisingly steady, only a hint of static breaking it up slightly. It seemed the fragging signal could be used to boost communications as well. “But I must admit, I am not clear on how this came to happen.”

Megatron frowned. “I outlined everything that’s happened.”

“Yes, of course,” Shockwave replied, bowing slightly. “I simply don’t understand, my Lord. If the energon produced on Earth was so deficient, why didn’t you have me increase energon production here? Or even better, relocate to Cybertron and make forays to Earth as needed. I have noticed none of the problems you detailed, so clearly they’re specific to Earth. Maybe something in the air? Excess oxygen can be detrimental.”

Starscream snorted. “Like slag it’s the oxygen. It’s the energon, Shockwave, and you’ve been fueling on it too. I refuse to believe you haven’t noticed the effects, or that you haven’t been running your own tests since Megatron let you know about it.” He smiled, a slow, somewhat evil expression that he’d practiced in front of a mirror. It had always ticked Shockwave off, probably because he couldn’t parse the emotions behind it. “Or is it simply that you haven’t noticed that your valve has shriveled up and dried out? I can’t imagine you use it much.”

Shockwave looked appropriately astounded, but whatever reply he made was swallowed up by a heavier wave of static. Optimus used the break to lean closer and murmur in Starscream’s audial. “Tick him off after we’ve secured Cybertron, please? We need his cooperation for a while longer.”

Starscream snickered. “Oh, it’s secure. Shockwave’s just hot air at this point, he’ll never disobey his precious Lord Megatron.”

The screen blanked out for a moment. When it came back on, it was split - one half showing Shockwave, the other showing a very irate pink femme Starscream only knew by reputation. By the looks of it, said reputation was well deserved.

“Are you fragging kidding me?” Elita One demanded. “Are you actually saying that the reason we’ve all dried up is because the energon you’ve sent over is _ defective _ ?” Her gaze moved to the side, and Shockwave flinched. “And you, you miserable excuse for a scientist, didn’t even _ notice _?”

“Hello, Elita,” Optimus said pleasantly. “It’s good to see you.”

“Hello, Optimus.” Elita sighed. “I’m glad to see you as well. But I am extremely annoyed with you right now. Do you know what we’ve had to do to make that energon even work for us? I’ve been wondering if it had been deliberately sabotaged! How long have you even known about this without telling us?”

Starscream suppressed a grin. This was too rich. Not just that Shockwave hadn’t even noticed that the energon didn’t contain the right elements to let him replenish his lubricant levels, but that the femmes actually had. He’d be tempted to say that’s what they got for stealing their fuel from the Decepticons, but it probably wasn’t the wisest thing to say in the current circumstances.

“How did ya solve it?” Jazz asked curiously. “I know we tried every additive we know of and then some.”

“We filtered it through a natural metal formation in one of the dried-out energon springs,” Elita replied, shrugging. “It’s a lot of work, but at least it does the trick.”

“There’s nothing wrong with the energon,” Shockwave tried again. “Your frame must be experiencing other deficiencies.”

Megatron groaned, his head in his hand. “Shockwave. Are you prepared to acknowledge and obey the treaty we’ve put in place?”

“Yes, lord Megatron. If you’ve approved it, I have no objections.”

“Elita?” Jazz said, leaning forward. He had a dangerous look on his face, the kind Starscream had really only seen in the rare instances when one of them had interrogated the other. “Do you and your group comply with the treaty as well? I assume you’ve hacked enough of Shockwave’s communications to know what the frag’s going on.”

“We have.” Elita stared back, looking every part the dangerous commander she was. “And we do. Provided we also get access to this new technology you’ve developed.”

“As soon as possible,” Optimus promised. “We’re putting together a mission to Cybertron. We shall see you soon.”

“That is acceptable,” Shockwave replied. “I await your decisions. Shockwave out.”

The screen faded to black, and Starscream finally let out the snickers he’d been holding back. Jazz winked at him.

“Let’s go, Megatron,” Optimus headed towards the door. “We need to talk to the scientists, get them to compile their results and send them to Cybertron.”

Starscream waited until both Optimus and Megatron had left before moving over to Jazz’s side. He nodded at Bumblebee. “Can you get Elita back on the line?”

Bumblebee looked confused, but nodded. “Yeah, sure. Give me a moment.”

Starscream waited patiently as the screen lit to life. Beside him, Jazz’s smile was widening by increments.

It didn’t take long before Elita’s face was back on the screen. She looked confused, still a bit annoyed, but not completely unapproachable.

“Hello, Elita,” Starscream purred.

Jazz’s smile bloomed into a full grin. “We wondered if you could tell us some more ‘bout that filtering process.”

“Yes. And if you have any more dirt on Shockwave,” Starscream said, “We’d be happy to hear it.”

Elita looked at them for a moment. Then she smirked. “Oh, I think we can figure something out.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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> 
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